With Great Power
by Youwillneverseeme
Summary: Blythe Baxter thought she was alone… until now, upon discovering another who shares her gift. This person claims to be using their powers for the good of humans and animals alike, but a string of mysterious occurrences around Downtown City fill Blythe and the pets with doubts. Does this person really have good intentions? Or does there lie a dark ulterior motive?
1. Prologue

**With Great Power…**

* * *

 _"When the whole world is silent, even one voice becomes powerful."_

 _-Malala Yousafzai_

* * *

 **Prologue**

 _You were born to do great things._ _Never forget that._

Dark wheels burned upon a dark road in the dead of a dark night. Headlights cut through the blackness a few feet ahead. No other vehicles existed on the road as if purely to let this one pass uncontended. The vehicle itself, a limousine, was like any other, nothing made it stand out from any others filtering through the streets, yet it still had the capacity to make heads turn and eyes stare. A limo's a limo, whichever way you look at it.

Three figures occupied the vehicle: the driver, a passenger, and their pet. The straight faced, suited man behind the steering wheel is not our focus here. He was paid to transport the client to whichever destination they demanded, nothing more. He never questioned it, nor did he have a reason to; he wasn't paid handsomely to do so.

In the backseat, the passenger gazed out as the horizon beyond the window blurred against the black, starlit sky. The hills and dips waved like the high tide, threatening to swallow them into the deep, dark abyss. The stars above glistened like a thousand eyes from heaven, gazing upon the world as it turned. Everything was silent, both inside and out. This was one of those rare moments where the passenger could think, without constant jabbering in the ear. The phones, all five of them, lay docked on a centre table, flanking a bucket filled with ice and a half-empty bottle of champagne. Silent, just the way the passenger liked it. Each cell phone was a different model, a different colour, and even contracted to different providers. The passenger could afford it, no problem — heck, the passenger could buy a hundred more if they wished.

 _You were born to do great things._

The figure reached down and stroked the dog that lay on the seat beside — the most adorable pet to ever exist, at least, in the passenger's eyes anyway. She snored peacefully in her specially designed seat, secured in place by the seatbelt. This was a pet that was not an accessory, but someone whom the owner adored. The heavenly white fur was untouched by the smear of makeup or the entanglement of jewellery; her beauty came naturally. All she needed was a regular wash, shampoo, and she was all set.

Back to the passenger, life could not be summed up in a single word. It could be anything and everything, and yet still be nothing. In the past, life for this one individual had been uneventful and monotonous. Now, life for this one was strenuous. Most of their time these days was spent sitting, whether it be in the backs of limousines, first-class on airplanes, dinner with the captain on cruise ships, or before straight edged suits-and-ties, possibly flocked by cameras, possibly not. It was actually more sitting than the previous life, which was within the confines of a six-by-six office cubicle.

This one could be considered a celebrity, but only in the loosest sense of the term. Sure, they had the money, the business, the resources, the connections, the pitch, and the achievements to be considered as such, but lacked the lifestyle employed by so many others. Gossip magazines dazzled their readers — the sheep thirsty for drivel — with photos of the rich and famous, boozing at three in the morning, sunbathing on the beaches of Barcelona; this one was never in them. However, more and more people were beginning to take notice to this one mysterious person, who rose up from seemingly nowhere, but carried wings forged from brilliance… and possibly a little luck. This celebrity succeeded where all others failed, the source of their accomplishment unknown.

 _You were born to do great things._ Mommy and Daddy spewed those words like river rapids, and the passenger was once a stone's throw away from disregarding them as wishful thinking. Turned out, those words became true, just not in the way originally imagined.

Life had just been trip after trip after trip, visiting places across the world. One day, business discussions in Beijing; the next, lunch in Paris; followed by interviews in Sydney the day thereafter. Every place held something, but just like life, they also held nothing. Everywhere felt like a dead-end, a brief pause before time returned. It was like the passenger hoped and searched for one specific thing, but found it nowhere.

The passenger/celebrity/entrepreneur's dark eyes caught white letters from outside the window – illuminated by the headlights – as they passed by.

 **Welcome to Downtown City**

Finely shaped fingernails slipped through the pages of a nearby file and opened it up, and the same dark eyes skimmed through a montage of images and paragraphs. What wonders awaited them in this particular city?

The Zoo: it had gorillas and tigers and lions and snakes and elephants and… this one needed no explanation.

Largest Ever Pet Shop. The picture that showed the store in its grand scale came accompanied by a photo of the owner: a white-haired, middle-aged man. In the same shot stood two girls, twins who looked like the human equivalent of the yin yang. Just by looking into their eyes, those glazed over, bored eyes, the passenger did not have high hopes for those two.

Terriers and Tiaras. Apparently, a competition for dogs was somehow bested by a hedgehog in a skirt. Let's not dwell on that.

The Pawza Hotel: a hotel for pets. Downtown City sure did cater well to their furry friends. There were both interior and exterior shots of the place, before and after the rejuvenation. It had been recently used as the venue for…

The Pet Fest: a charity event for endangered species, which took place only two weeks ago. It included stalls, activities, even live performances — one by the Soul Patches. There was a picture of the individual who started it being crowned the Special Ambassador to the Endangered Animals Fund. This individual, a teenage girl with brown hair and blue eyes, had ties to another pet store named Littlest Pet Shop.

But wait, there was more. Littlest Pet Shop, according to the records, teetered on the edge of closure around the exact time as that same girl moved into the apartment above. Apparently, it was her idea of pet fashion that stopped the shop from shutting its doors forever. She just happened to be the right person at the right place at the right time. The person in the limo was unable to break their pupils away from the collage, interest had bested them. The girl went on to almost start a nest hat craze, star in a commercial for Littlest Pet Shop, and even place first in the Pet Fashion Expo.

"Anyone who harbours such success with animals are either extremely lucky or are hiding something." The figure smiled an intrigued smile, tapping against the teen's left cheek. "Perhaps you were born to do great things too… Blythe."


	2. Chapter 1: Saturday

**Chapter 1**

 **Saturday**

Blythe Baxter awoke to the unmistakable smell of smoke. Her solid eyelids scraped open. Early morning, summer sunlight seeped through the cracks in her curtains, yet the ceiling was obscured by a thin layer of black smoke, making it appear grey. A moment later, the smoke alarm activated; it's drone like a jackhammer going off in her oversized skull. Her alarm clock now sounded more pleasant by comparison.

Any other person would've been up and out the window like a gunshot, regardless of height or whether or not there was an escape ladder. Blythe, however, groaned, covered her ears with her pillow, and glanced at her bedside table. The digital clock read half-past-seven, and on a Saturday of all days. She showed no signs of panic as she heaved herself up, out of bed, and stumbled on bare feet for the door. As she flung it open, more smoke billowed through, stinging her eyes and hacking her throat. She followed the trail half-blindly down the hall, the odour getting stronger with every step. The smog above drowned the ceiling, basking her once peaceful apartment in gloom. She reached the kitchen, and there she saw it.

Fire, ferocious and deadly, flicked and spat with zero control and zero regard for anyone's safety. They rose like the very flames from the deepest, darkest depths of the underworld. Their power raw, hate inspiring. Not even the most heated, violent fit of pure rage could match it. Ever since the first caveman discovered the power of the element, man had always sought to control it, bend it to his will, but fire was beyond control. Its strength and audacity wild and destructive, able to fall the mightiest of kingdoms and the most glorious of empires. And there it was, in the very room, consuming it, its feast having only just begun.

Blythe sighed. "There goes another toaster…"

Roger Baxter aimed the nozzle of the fire extinguisher at the kitchen top and smothered the flame with a blast of compressed carbon dioxide. When it cleared, there stood a black, smouldering brick in the exact same spot where a shiny, bread-toasting device once did.

The father noticed her daughter standing at the doorway. "Oh, um, good morning, Blythie," he greeted, put the extinguisher away, then promptly went to open a window and fan the smoke out, returning a certain semblance of normality to the apartment. The smell lingered though. Roger was the early bird, as usual, already up and dressed in his casual, red plaid shirt, blue jeans, and black shoes. "I know the toaster looks a little singed at this angle… and this light… but it still works. Honest." At that moment, the brick spat out two pieces of charcoal, both in the shape of bread slices. Roger quickly planted them onto a plate even though they had lost all manner of resemblance to dough. "I just love them when they're well done."

Blythe walked to the fridge. "Looks like that's not the only thing that's 'well done', Dad..." she said before she opened the door and pulled out a carton of milk. If there existed any way of setting the refrigerator on fire, Roger was sure to discover it. "Good morning, by the way," she said as she opened a cupboard and grabbed a box of cereal.

"Sleep well?" The father got a couple of small butter cubes and planted them on the crisps. The yellow complimented the black like the stripes on a bee, yet offered no disguise for how horribly scorched they were.

The daughter sat down at the table and filled a bowl with cereal. "Yeah. Great," she answered.

During breakfast, Roger's crunching of white teeth against black toast took up most of the conversation. He pulled a brave face for his daughter with every bite. They discussed plans for the day. Roger himself was free, nothing scheduled for him down at the airport, at least for the next day or two. Blythe, too, had nothing much on her plate. She was going to spend time with the pets today, take them to the park maybe – it was a nice day for it.

After breakfast, Blythe showered, brushed her teeth, and then pondered on her style for the day. Would she go summery with a dress and sandals? Or would trainers, shorts, and a t-shirt suit her better? Would she have her hair down, or braided up? Pig tails, perhaps? Maybe a bow to accessorise? In the end, she decided to go with practicality. She donned a button-down, short sleeved shirt, jeans, and boots. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

When she was ready, Blythe walked across her room, towards a small hatch over by her bed and opened it, revealing the dumbwaiter. To reach the ground floor, she would usually take the stairs like any other person, but to reach the day-care in record time, this was the straight shot. She still remembered her reluctance the first time she climbed into it. It was all one big adventure and she liked adventures – or at least she thought she did. She climbed inside, took the rope, and began to abseil down. She had done this so many times now that going up and down was as natural as walking. The first time was the one that changed her life forever.

With a soft thud, she reached the ground floor. Blythe would slide the door up and be back at the Littlest Pet Shop day-care. Before she opened the hatch though, she always held her breath at the prospect that something radical had changed when she was gone, not just from the room's side but also from the pets too. Whether it be a new and improved feeder, to the appearance of a different pet, or if Vinnie went on another of his 'Shake-a-Leg' rampages for the AWOL remote control. She pulled the door up and saw that everything was how it was, as it should be. All the pets were there and everyone was doing their usual thing. She breathed easy and exited the dumbwaiter.

Russell Ferguson, the orange European hedgehog, was the first to greet her. "Hi, Blythe," he said, lying comfortable on a plump cushion, looking up from behind the cover of the book he was reading. His snorting and chittering dialect vibrated off Blythe's eardrums, which then her brain translated into English. How it did that, nobody had a clue.

"Hey, Russell," she replied, then eyed the book cover. It was one that she didn't recognise. "Started a new book, have we?"

With a proud nod, Russell shut the book, keeping one of his nails on his current page. "Indeed, I have." He presented the cover to her. "The Duchess of Lancashire Lane: Reaccused. It's an official novelisation written by those not associated with the show's original production, but approved by the broadcasting company who own the rights to it."

Blythe pulled a cocky smile. "So, essentially…" She folded her arms, as if to emphasise her next words. "It's fanfiction."

The hedgehog was not too thrilled by her statement. "… _Official novelisation_ …" he repeated before picking up where he left off, a scowl across his usually timid face.

Just then, Vinnie Terrio, the green gecko with a head of slick, green hair, rushed past on hind legs. His body leaned low and arms stretched wide, running full pelt across the room. He shot a quick "Hey, Blythe!" as he passed by. The lizard reached the armchair in the far corner and slithered behind it. Blythe followed his trail back to the opposite end where she saw Sunil Nevla, the blue banded mongoose, facing away, his paws over his eyes. She could hear him counting. Blythe connected the dots and came to a solid conclusion that the two best buddies were playing hide-and-seek. Poor Vinnie probably thought he had the perfect hiding place; he probably thought the exact same thing the last eighty two times he hid behind the armchair. Sunil reached ten, span around, and expectantly made a bee-line for the armchair, greeting Blythe in the exact same manner as Vinnie did.

"Blythe, darling?" Zoe Trent, the purple Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, got Blythe's attention before she could witness the game's conclusion. The dog in the beret stood before the full length mirror that was suited more for the stature of a human than her petite, canine frame. "A moment, if you'd be so kind."

Blythe approached her. "Sure, Zoe," she said, "what's up?"

"Well, as you know, I've been working hard on my pizazz for the next fashion show." Zoe gazed at her own reflection and smiled seductively. "I want to look my very best in front of the cameras."

"That isn't for another month," Blythe clarified.

"All the more reason to start practicing! So, which pose looks the most fabulous?" Zoe stood on her hind legs and leaned back over one arm. "This one?" Then, she lay down and rested her furry head on her paw. "This one?" Finally, she sat up, held a paw elevated, and turned her head to the side. "Or this one?"

Blythe pondered on those poses for a second before she answered, "The second one."

"Just what I was thinking. Thanks, Blythe."

While leaving the dog to ogle at her own reflection, Blythe glanced across the room and saw Minka Mark, the pink spider monkey, doodled away on a canvas. Her artistic flare must have been bright today, because her jumping was as rapid and wild as her brushstrokes.

Penny Ling, the white and violet giant – but still small – panda, munched away on a stick of bamboo. It was either her after-breakfast snack or her after-after-breakfast snack.

Pepper Clark, the grey skunk, mercilessly hammered the programme up button on the television remote, skimming through channel after channel. Each individual show only had a single second to win her attention.

 _Bzzt!_

 _In today's news: a leprechaun sighted in—_

 _Bzzt!_

 _And the nice thing about these practice katanas—_

 _Bzzt!_

 _SAY HELLO TO MY LITTLE FRIE—_

 _Bzzt!_

 _I used to wonder what friendship could b—_

 _Bzzt!_

While Pepper searched away, Blythe strolled past the pets and through the door beside the viewing glass, leading into the shop – the main buying and selling area of goods, if you will. It was small, but perfectly stocked with only the best; they didn't call it 'Littlest Pet Shop' for nothing. A few people browsed the shelves, another just entered, breaking the silence with the ringing of the bell above the entrance. One of them had just traded money for dog kibble at the counter. The customer, a heavyset adult man, handed a twenty dollar note to the silver-haired lady, who promptly opened the cashier and got the change.

Mrs Twombly handed the customer his notes and coins. "Thank you for shopping at Littlest Pet Shop," she said as the man took his kibble and left. "We hope to see you again."

"Good morning, Mrs Twombly," Blythe greeted.

"Good morning, Blythe," Twombly replied with a thankful smile. "I'm glad you're here. The day's just started, yet the squeaky toy basket is almost empty." Just then, another customer approached the counter.

"Eye oh eye, Mrs Tee!" Blythe rushed into the storeroom, leaving a confused Mrs Twombly to serve the customer. Blythe suddenly popped out from the doorway. "I'm on it," she rectified.

Anna Twombly chuckled to herself. After finishing with the customer, she reached under the counter and retrieved her notebook full of lingo and phrases for the young and hip. She jotted down _I.O.I = I'm on it_. Right above that was _B.R.B = Be right back_ , _G.2.G = Got to go_ , and _W.T.F = What the—_

"Finished!"

Twombly jumped. There was Blythe, returned from having already refilled the basket, all in the meagre time it took for her to help the previous customer and jot in her notebook.

Mrs Twombly collected herself. "Thanks. It's getting harder these days to keep both the counter manned, the shelves stocked, and the sweeties fed at the same time."

"Ever since Pet Fest?" Blythe asked.

Mrs Twombly reached under the counter again and pulled out a small pile of paper, bundled together with a staple. "Ever since, apparently," she stated while adjusting her spectacles. "I've made a report. Business has been on the up starting from two weeks ago. That Pet Fest's been great advertising for the shop."

"Well, it was a pretty big event in the city, not a lot of people could miss it."

Mrs Twombly turned to Blythe. "You know, some of the customers come in mainly to see you."

"I noticed," Blythe replied with a nod.

Suddenly, a small, shy voice spoke up from behind Blythe. "Excuse me, Miss Baxter?" Blythe turned to see a girl of either nine or ten, the daughter to one of the mothers browsing the shelves, standing before her. A magazine and a pen clutched against her chest. "I was there at the Pet Fest, and… after seeing you up on that podium before the Soul Patches, you totally became my hero." She reluctantly held out the objects in her arms. "Can I have your autograph, please?"

Blythe smiled. "Sure," she said as she took both the monthly magazine and the pen. This revealed the cute logo of a cat's smiley face on the girl's t-shirt. The front page was about the Pet Fest, appropriately. "What's your name?"

"Samantha, but my friends just call me Sam."

With her trademark style, she wrote the girl's shortened name then her own signature to the surface – a stylised 'B', for Blythe – then handed it back to Sam. Sam gazed upon the black lines on the cover and smiled.

"Thank you so much," Sam said before skipping back over to her parent, and they began to leave. She span around and waved. "Bye bye."

"Wow," Mrs Twombly said, "you're starting to become quite the celebrity around here."

"Well, I couldn't have done it without Littlest Pet Shop, my friends, and even the pets," Blythe stated. "Speaking of pets, do you have any objections with me taking them out to the park for a couple of hours?"

"Only if you've picked a bad day for it…" Anna Twombly glanced out the window, at the cloudless sky and bright sun, and smiled. "I guess not. Some fresh air and exercise will do them some good."

* * *

While the next channel played – some soap opera set in Australia – Pepper sighed. "What gives? Two hundred channels and nothing's on? There's always something worth watching on a Saturday."

Penny Ling strolled up beside the grey skunk and watched as the channels hopped faster than their bunny friend, Buttercream. She swallowed the final bit of bamboo then said, "What about cartoons?"

Pepper, upon hearing that suggestion, paused, then pawed button one. The screen came to life with colourful visuals and wacky humour. "Why didn't I think of this before?" A sudden intense burst overloaded their brains, threatening to override all senses. Their pupils enlarged, drool slavered from the corners of their lips. Both Pepper and Penny suddenly felt nauseous. Pepper worked up what little control she had left to change to the dull colour channel, a station dedicated to showing the drabbest and boring colours in all their glory. The two regained control of their minds. "Oh, yeah… that's why…" Pepper murmured between breaths, having finally remembered all too late.

They had, at that moment, a nagging feeling that they were being watched. The two glanced over their shoulders and discovered that Minka was there, the biggest smile across her face.

"Now you know where I get all my inspiration from," Minka said in her fast and frantic tone. "Speaking of which…" She ran back to the canvas and placed the finishing touches on her work of art. "Ah, c'est magnifique! What do you think?"

Vinnie stopped in the middle of his run to observe the work of art, or rather, the waste of a perfectly good canvas. He scratched his hair and hummed. "It's very… colourful… whatever it is."

Sunil strolled up beside the gecko and witnessed the mess for himself. "That's a beautiful looking…" He tilted his head to the left, then to the right and squinted. "Tree…?"

Vinnie snapped upright and smiled. "Oh, of course, a tree!" For the longest time, he stood there with a big, dumb smile upon his dumb head, then leaned over to the mongoose and whispered, "I don't see a tree."

Sunil grabbed Vinnie by the back of the head and tiled it thirty degrees to the right. "It's right there, between that red splodge and the green smudge that looks like the Martian Overlord's brain from 'Invasion of the Brain-Drainers from Greymaterox Six.'"

"Oh yeah, now I see it!" Vinnie's face lit up, then went dark just as quickly. "No, wait, I've lost it again."

The day-care door opened and Blythe stepped through, holding a handful of leashes.

"Okay, pets, who's up for a trip to the park?" she announced.

The room burst to life with excited animals cheers and shouts. In the commotion, Pepper dropped the remote. As she turned away, her hind leg stomped on one of the buttons.

The television flicked to another channel, yet no one was there to see it. It was a talk show, the most popular one in Downtown City. Wake Up, People. The final gasps of the introduction slid away, revealing the highly-paid hostess sitting in a plush, purple armchair.

The presenter, Ginny Hues, smiled at the camera with her lightly waxed lips. She spoke into a microphone.

"Good morning, Downtown City. I'm your host, Ginny Hues, and it's time to—" She pulled her arm back, then stretched it toward the camera, pointing to the hundreds of thousands of people fixated to their TV screens. "—wake up, people!"

Her tagline was met with the chorus of applause from the crowd. The clapping ran its course for as long as the 'applaud' sign remained illuminated.

"I've said it once and I'll say it again, you all know, I love animals, and our first guest joining us today has dedicated their life to them. A rising star in the wonderful world of celebrity-hood, with growing acclaim. Entrepreneur, pet product manufacturer, and animal rights activist – ladies and gentlemen – Scarlet Robertson."

The camera switched to the guest sitting in the chair opposite Ginny's. Despite her name, Scarlet had nothing red about her. Not in her hair, or eyes, or even in her fashion; she found blue to be a more charming colour. A woman in her early to mid-forties, tall and slim, Robertson wore her maturity the same way a soldier wore battle scars. Other women of her status would hide it, both cosmetically and figuratively, but not Scarlet. Her shoulder-length, wavy blonde hair brought out the richness of her deep, brown eyes. Her beauty was perfect, not too young and not too old; she rocked the look that combined confidence, wisdom, and daring. Her choice of fashion – her jacket, shirt, trousers, and high-heeled boots – cemented her style. On her lap sat her pet dog, Sheila, a Bishon Frisé. The crowd gave the interviewee the same amount of love as they did for the interviewer.

"Welcome to the show, Miss Robertson," Ginny greeted, offering a hand. "Thank you for joining us this morning."

Scarlet reached out and shook it. "Hello, Ginny. I love the show and I'm honoured to be here today. And please, call me Scarlet."

"Sure thing, Scarlet. Now, first thing's first, I'd like to talk about you. There isn't a lot about you in the news, you're pretty new to being a celebrity. Some people see you as some kind of a ghost."

"Well, that's their problem. Just because I don't live the wild life doesn't mean that I should for their sake," Scarlet said. "I never took the mantle of animal rights activist just to ruffle up some feathers and become famous. I do the things I do because I believe it is the right thing to do, and if that makes turns me into a celebrity, then so be it."

"Well spoken, Scarlet," Ginny commemorated. "You've poured your heart and soul into defending the rights of animals everywhere, giving speeches at formal events, raising awareness for several branches. What are your motivations for that?"

Scarlet stroked the dog's white fur. "Animals everywhere need a voice. This is a beautiful world, full of fascinating creatures, but every day, tragedies are carried out upon hundreds of thousands of living creatures all over the world. I will not, cannot stand back while these atrocities go unheeded." She stopped and sighed. "This is a war that will never be won, even with events like the Pet Fest, the fight will go on for many generations to come as long as there are people and animals, but so long as there are people like me standing up for the little guys, the war will never be lost either."

"Interesting," Ginny murmured. She was seemingly mesmerised by the words as they left Scarlet's mouth. "You've chosen to not only speak for the animals, but also cater to them too. You've just recently developed products for pets in countries like the UK, Germany, Australia, and Japan. Food, toys, leashes, beds, and much more. Customer reviews have been indisputably positive, they're flying off the shelves faster than they can be supplied."

Scarlet leaned back, showing interest in that statement, but no disbelief. "Is that so?"

"Your recent success is even starting to outshine some of the bigger, more well-known companies out there. Some of them are wondering where you got your success from."

"Does that mean I should be on the lookout for dog kibble factory spies?"

Host laughed. Crowd laughed. It ran its course, then subsided.

Scarlet resumed. "Honestly, there's no secret ingredient or special technique that I'm using here." She turned to the camera. "What you have to understand is that your pets are living creatures. You just… have to know what they're thinking – what makes them tick. Their drives. Their needs. They're all unique, just like you and I." She leaned in closer to the dog that was smiling and wagging her tail. "You just have to listen… very closely."

Ginny giggled. "Well, the last time I listened closely to a dog, I got licked in the ear." Her statement was met with a wooden chortle from the audience.

Scarlet laughed with them. "I can honestly say that's happened my fair share of times."

"So now, after expanding business abroad, you've decided to bring it exclusively to Downtown City," Ginny stated.

"Of course," Scarlet replied. "Downtown City has an incredible connection with animals. What better place than to expand business to the United States than here? I've already received messages from dozens of citizens eager to see Robertson Brand products here in Downtown City. But really, I'm looking for more than just an expansion. I'm hoping to establish a partnership wi—"

With a press of the button, Blythe switched off the television. She set the remote back on the stand before tending to the pets. She took hold of their leashes, and together, they strolled out the store.


	3. Chapter 2: Largest Ever Potluck

**Chapter 2**

 **Largest Ever Potluck**

Fisher Biskit gazed up with his blue eyes at the sign of the pet shop – his pet shop. Largest Ever Pet Shop: _the only pet shop in Downtown City_. Oh, he wished with every fibre of his soul that that was true. The sky was clear and blue, just the way he liked it; not a drop of rain or rumble of thunder to scare away the customers, and their cash. He stepped through the doors, which slid aside as if the structure itself heeded its master, when in reality, it was the work of the automated system.

He stared out at the expanse of the pet shop – his pet shop. He cared not for the checkouts or the unenthusiastic, ache-ridden clerks behind them – who would rather be anywhere else but there on a Saturday morning – but for the aisles and aisles of pet related products. They didn't call it Largest Ever Pet Shop for nothing. It was big, but nowhere near as big as his mansion, which had enough space in the garage to fit the store, and still have room to play baseball in.

Fisher strolled forward, through his domain — his pet shop. He reflected nothing but confidence in his stride; shoulders back, chin up, hands behind back, taking slow, confident steps.

Mr. Biskit smiled as all eyes were on him. _Embrace your inner villainy,_ he mused, _Release your inner ignominy._

He reached the door with the words 'staff only' embedded into the surface. He opened it up and found himself in the surveillance room. The monitor stood of the far wall, close to the corner. Over a dozen video feeds covered every square inch on the area. Nobody would be shoplifting so much as dog collar anytime soon; that is, if there was someone actually browsing the wares… and someone actually watching the screens. Before the monitors, on two adjustable chairs, sat Fisher's daughters, Whittany and Brittany Biskit. They sat facing away from each other, texting furiously on their phones, with their thumbs.

Their father passed them and said, "Good morning, girls."

Neither of them looked up. "Hey, Daddy…" Whittany said in a low, bored tone. She pressed the 'send' button to one of the two contact numbers saved on the memory. "Britt, I just sent you a text."

The message popped up on the separate phone no more than three feet away. They were so close that Whittany could have just turned her head and passed the message on by word of mouth. Brittany read it and pulled the faintest smile known to mankind.

"That is, like, so hilarious, Whitt," Brittany responded in an equally unexcited way, then proceeded to type another message.

Not even the end of the world could convince the identical twins to part from their phones. It was getting to a point where they should just surgically fuse them to their palms, just so that they could take their phones with them wherever they went.

Fisher Biskit shrugged as he passed them, he expected nothing less. He took another doorway that lead to a set of stairs. He ascended them slow and steady, no need to exert himself unnecessarily. Eventually, he reached the door to an office – his office. He swung it open and was instantly greeted to the mixture of freshly vacuumed carpet, surface polisher, and window cleaner. The janitor had been ever so thorough in cleaning his office, he had to be; one trace of dust, one strand of hair, and he would be replaced with a Monban unit freshly manufactured from Osaka, Japan.

He stepped around his desk. The window oversaw the aisles of Largest Ever Pet Shop. From there, Fisher would look down upon the commoners and peasants who scoured the immaculate floors of the pet shop – his pet shop – with their dirty, unimportant soles. It made him feel superior. The store was a universe, and Fisher was its god. However, its deity was not too happy when he peered down from his cloud and found his world below to be scarcely populated of life.

"My store is usually packed during the weekends," Fisher said to himself. "What is the meaning of this?"

Fisher eased himself into his throne and pushed himself up to his desk. There, in a neat pile, was a small stack of papers. His weekly report, waiting for him. He grabbed the papers. The first page filled him with dread. The profits for Largest Ever Pet Shop, accompanied with a graph; the line gradually declining. Profits were dropping and it was only getting worse as the days rolled on. He flipped the page and the next showed the records for his competition, Littlest Pet Shop. They were the opposite, profits were up and trade was increasing.

"Not again…" Fisher mumbled.

The businessman slammed the papers on the desk out of frustration, before trying to calm himself. This was not the first time an event such as this had occurred, these things happened from time to time. Business was not failing, just quiet. This was not the end of everything, but merely a minor setback, a phase in which he could bounce back from easily.

"So what can be done?" Fisher Biskit pondered to himself as he sank deeper into the leather of his seat. "Perhaps I could employ the girls to infiltrate Littlest Pet Shop and discover the true source of their success? The last time I did that though, I ended up flooding Largest Ever Pet Shop. Advertising? There's already enough commercials and billboard ads around the city, and they in themselves are burning a hole in my pocket." He tapped his chin thoughtfully and conjured up some devious plans. "Sabotage? Smear campaign, maybe?"

Fisher Biskit swivelled the chair around until he was gazing out the window again. Perhaps, he thought, it was time to place his trust into fate. He had never done it before. Maybe there existed a golden opportunity out there, just waiting to step through the automated door. When that moment arrived, he would pounce on it with everything.

At the very moment in time, his prayer may have been answered. From behind the transparent glass, a long, black car, a limousine, pulled up before the entrance. Fisher studied the model and make, even though it was about an inch big in his vision, and all he could confirm was that it wasn't one of his. This might have been the opportunity he was waiting for, even if it was for all of ten seconds. Nobody ever took a limousine out just for going around the shops – except for him and his daughters. This person must have had some wealth and/or fame to their name. He refused to tear his gaze from the vehicle. The passenger door opened and a figure stepped out, along with a white fuzz ball of some kind.

* * *

While she shut the car door behind herself, Scarlet Robertson gazed up with her brown eyes at the sign for Largest Ever Pet Shop. A giant L in the middle of a doggie bone. Sheila stood directly at her master's side, with no lease to guide her. The white, fluffy dog did not require one, she was completely obedient to Scarlet, her master.

Scarlet took a deep breath. "If I'm looking for a partnership, and a place for you to stay for a few hours," she said as she glanced down at Sheila, "I might as well start with the obvious location…" She did not have high hopes for this place, in fact, just staring up at the imposing sign failed to fill her with confidence. When one travelled as much as she did, one develops a sixth sense of sorts: the ability to judge a company based on its appearance. Nine times out of time, her predictions rang true. Scarlet turned to the open window of the driver's side door and told the chauffeur to park up in the empty lot and wait. The driver complied, swerved the lengthy vehicle around and occupied two spaces. Scarlet turned back and gestured to the front door. "Come on, let's check it out, Sheila."

Scarlet walked through the automatic doors, her dog remained at her side. At the entrance lobby, two more Largest Ever Pet Shop signs hung above the central pathway, as if they'd already forgotten which store they'd stepped into. In her business, it never hurt to underestimate the intelligence of the clientele, but nobody on this small planet was that dumb.

They continued without stopping down the centre, past the checkouts – the clerks remained as silent as still as statues – and between the foremost rows of shelves. Just from a sheer glance, one could tell that this place was heavily stocked, and just from the sound – and the jingle of radio music – Scarlet was the only 'customer' currently within the store. Sheila edged closer to the opposite aisle and scanned the assortment of dog products on the bottom shelf. Fancy stuff, but nothing that took her fancy.

Before both Scarlet and Sheila reached the end of the aisle, a large, white figure rolled into view. A robot. His movements were as mechanic as it was. His single, red dot of an eye scanned the aisles and shelves, searching for anything not in its right place. The mesh on the chin symbolised a constant angry snarl of teeth. His bulky body and claw hands added to its intimidation charm, but the tiny, singular – almost adorable – wheel below subtracted from it. Just watching that huge, motorised, scary, iron giant roll about on that little wheel like a pullback toy car was almost comical… almost.

Scarlet sieved through her teeth. "Oh, great, a Monban-Five-Thousand," she whispered sarcastically. "Like I didn't put up with enough of these back in Japan."

Already, Largest Ever Pet Shop was off to a bad start. The look and feel of a business can tell you a lot about the people who ran it, and when the security was as cold and heartless as the robot itself, it did not stem thoughts that they enjoyed strolling through meadows, collecting flowers.

The Monban unit rolled up to the celebrity. Scarlet fought the urge to run in the opposite direction, like most customers probably did when they saw this juggernaut tumbling toward them. Sheila, on the other hand, oblivious to the advancing machine, continued down the aisle. Monban instantly set his laser sights on the dog that had no leash. He registered it immediately; an anomaly, something that shouldn't be where it should be. An error that must be corrected. Sheila noticed the robot too late, when he was one foot away, towering over her, glaring with his red pupil at her.

"No pets allowed outside designated area," Monban spoke in his mechanical dialectal, causing Sheila to yelp and curl up as small as she could.

"Hold on! She's with me," Scarlet insisted, her left palm raised. Her pet remained riveted to the spot, afraid to move. "I'm sure you can make an exception."

Monban focused his red eye on the woman. "Your pet is not on a leash," he retorted. "Explanation required."

"My pet is highly trained and very loyal to my command. I don't require a leash at the moment, thank you very much."

Monban brought his arms up and clamps his claws. "Excuse… invalid," he spoke as he reached for Sheila. "No untethered pets allowed outside designated area."

Sheila cried as a claw snatched her by the royal red collar and hoisted her off the ground. With the pet outside the designated area in possession, Monban turned on his wheel to put the pet inside the designated area.

Her owner grumbled, then said, "Monban, initiate protocol override: two, six, seven, three, slash, zero, nine, zero." She pointed her index finger to the ground. "Put her down."

Monban stopped and faced Scarlet, Sheila still hung by the collar. "Negative. I only obey Bi—" Suddenly, he seized up. After remaining frozen for a couple of seconds, He began to uncontrollably shake in place as his wires and drives processed the numbers and symbols, unlocking something hidden deep down inside. "N-no…! P-p-prime… di-dir-direct… ive… dictates… th-tha…"

After having worked with similar models back in Japan, Scarlet learned of certain failsafes programmed into every unit. Sure, you could program them to perform certain actions and make them obey the sound of particular voices, but there existed secret commands deep in their programming: directives that held authority over user installed commands, and no Monban unit could ever disobey them. These codes were originally implemented as a last resort in the event a unit became unresponsive or went haywire. Scarlet knew many more codes; she could easily shut him down, erase user-installed instructions, even erase all his memory if she wanted.

Eventually, Monban stopped shaking, then leaned down and placed Sheila back on the floor. He patted her on the head, said, "Have a nice day," and then took off, ready to annoy some other poor soul, if only one would step through the door.

Sheila wobbled on all fours, clearly shaken by the whole ordeal. Scarlet reached down and patted the dog on the back. "There, there, Sheila. Are you okay?" Sheila looked up at her and nodded. "That's good to know. We'll look around some more, and then we'll be going."

Both Scarlet and Sheila reached the end of the centre aisle and found exactly what they were looking for: the 'designated area' affirmed by the robotic caretaker. Scarlet had seen cold, calculated business reps with even colder hearts, drab and lifeless working conditions for many an employee, but nothing could have prepared her for the sadness and misery that awaited her behind the half-inch thick, bulletproof plexiglass.

Rows and columns of foot-by-foot cells lined the walls. Their captives were the pets that their owners entrusted to the business. Animals of many types: dogs, cats, mice, ferrets, rabbits, even two parrots, were imprisoned in a world of grey, bare walls and icy, plastic glass. The food in the bowls looked worse than what the rats were eating in the trash. A dog bit into a mouse chew toy and made the one sound nobody ever wanted to hear: silence. Scarlet gazed into their eyes, which stared off into oblivion. This was not a day-care, this was a prison.

Sheila whimpered, horrified by the sheer sight of it. Her owner reached down and stroked her immaculate fur.

"Don't worry, Sheila," Scarlet comforted, "I'm not leaving you here." These words brought a relieved smile to the dog's face. "In retrospect, I'm glad I stopped that Monban unit when I did."

All of a sudden, the pets came to life. They barked and howled and chittered and bellowed, all of it dampened behind the layers of glass. Scarlet stared at the pets and learned that they weren't looking at her, but a few feet to her left.

"May I help you?"

Scarlet turned from her kneeling position to find the same white-haired man from the photo, Fisher Biskit, standing there. The photo was marked down as being taken a year ago, but the wealthy businessman had not aged a single day, even his grey suit had remained unchanged by time.

Fisher took one look at her. His blue eyes open with a mixture of astonishment and disbelief upon discovering who she was. "My word," he said, "you're Scarlet Robertson!"

Scarlet stood up to meet the owner of Largest Ever Pet Shop. Theirs heights matched perfectly. This was a rare moment for her, when she entered an establishment and someone recognised her by face. "That I am," she responded. "And you're Fisher Biskit."

"That is correct," Mr Biskit replied. "I received word you were in Downtown City, I even watched your interview with Ginny Hues this morning, but I never would have imagined that you'd walk into my store." Fisher reached out with an open hand. "Welcome to Largest Ever Pet Shop." He leaned in closer and widened his grin. "The only pet shop in Downtown City!"

Scarlet shook Fisher's hand. Compared to Ginny's delicate touch, it felt coarse, bony, and cold. "I'll be the judge of that. Pleasure to meet you, though."

"The pleasure's all mine." Their hands parted. Fisher gestured to the side door. "Care to come to my office? I believe you and I have much to discuss."

"Well, that and I was looking for a place to leave my pet dog, Sheila, for a few hours…"

"Oh, of course. The day-care you see here can see to that," Fisher stated as he reached into his pocket and retrieved a key. As he went to insert it into the keyhole, he said, "Our day centre guarantees that absolutely no harm will come to your pet."

The key's jagged tip was a mere centimetre from the slot when Scarlet grabbed Fisher by the wrist. "Actually, if it's all the same to you," she said, "I'd rather not use your day-care facility. Thank you."

Fisher frowned, his eyebrow raised. "Do you see a problem with the day-care?"

Now it was Scarlet's turn to act confused. She glanced at the pets contained in the prison and realised they were all howling at the man beside her. She turned back to Mr Biskit and asked, "Do you see a problem with the pris – I mean – day-care?" She placed extra emphasis on the 'you'.

Fisher took one look at the animals behind the glass, then refocused his cold gaze back to her. "I see no problem with it whatsoever."

Scarlet raised her other hand and cupped it around her ear, which was hidden beneath her hair. "Listen…" she whispered. Her voice an octave higher than the muffled cries. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"The pets. They're sad, in pain, and now they're angry. They're calling out to you, Mr Biskit. So much contempt, so much hatred, all of it directed towards you. You should hear the things they're calling you." She reeled back abruptly. "Okay, that one was a little too crude for my tastes."

Fisher listened closely. All he could hear were the sounds of yelping and barking. "What are you talking about?" He looked at her as if she were crazy. "All I hear is howling."

"Yes, that's what I thought," said Scarlet as she pulled Fisher's hand away from the door, then let go. "Sheila will accompany me, unless you have a problem with that."

Fisher's frown deepened. "Have it your way," he said, slipping the key into his blazer pocket. "Just as long as your dog is properly housetrained. I don't want a mess appearing in my office." He turned on his heels and started to head for the staff-only door. He forced himself to smile. "This way, please."

The three individuals walked away from the viewing booth, leaving the pets to their cruel fate. The short trip from there to the staff section was short and uneventful, not one single distraction halted them. The quietness of the store was broken by the tapping of heels against tiled floor.

Fisher Biskit pondered on only one thing, and that was the stroke of luck that Scarlet Robertson had just stepped into his establishment. He had watched the interview, that was no tale, and he was fully aware that the businesswoman was in search of a partner. This was the golden opportunity he was seeking, a chance to place Largest Ever Pet Shop back on the map. If he could strike a partnership with Miss Robertson, he could get some of her products into his store, and they would sell like hotcakes – better than hotcakes. He had to tread carefully though, in order for her to accept, he would have to prove that he was the absolutely best candidate for the job – no room for error now. Everything had to be perfect.

They entered through the staff only door, Fisher taking the lead, and there were the Biskit twins again, having not moved an inch since their father had last seen them. Scarlet took one look at them and knew she had hit the nail on the head.

The twins' father called out to them, "Girls, get over here and introduce yourselves to Miss Robertson."

Brittany grumbled as she pulled the phone away from her eyes. "Whatever," she moaned as both she and her sister heaved themselves from their comfortable seats. They presented themselves before the stranger. "So, um, I'm, like, Brittany Biskit."

The other continued, "And I'm Whittany Biskit. We're, like, twins."

"I would never have guessed that," Scarlet said in a dull tone. _Spoilt more than out-of-date milk._ "So, what do you girls do here?"

Brittany answered, "We were just texting over there. I was about to send Whitt this totally hysterical text. It—"

Scarlet interrupted, "No, I mean, what do you actually do around here? Do you two work here? What responsibilities do you have?"

The white-haired sister turned to the black-haired sister. "Whitt, what's a… res-ponse-a-bill-eh-tea?"

Whittany gazed up to the ceiling, deep in thought. "Isn't that, like, how you respond to the bill you get when you order tea?"

Their white-haired father intervened. At this rate, he'd never show a good example to his guest of honour. "Now, now, girls. That's enough Introductions for now." He pointed back towards the chairs near the monitors. "Go back to that… typing thing you were doing. Miss Robertson and I have got promising business plans to discuss."

In perfect unison, the twins span around and said, "Good for you, Daddy." Then retreated to their inclined seats.

Scarlet shook her head in disgust while Fisher wasn't looking. _Spoilt and dumb. A lethal combination._

Without saying another word, the embarrassed store owner escorted his – hopefully – future partner, and her pet, up the stairs. Fisher opened the final door at the end of the hallway to reveal his office. He realised that there wasn't a seat for his guest, and promptly ordered Monban to retrieve one. The robot arrived a moment later with a foldout deckchair. Not the most elaborate interview chair, but any seat was better than no seat. Fisher Biskit took his place behind his desk while Scarlet hunched herself down onto the wood and cloth. Sheila spread herself out just beside the entrance, leaving the humans to their big talk.

"Before we begin, can I offer you a tea or coffee?" Fisher offered. The Monban-5000 opened his body compartment and revealed a coffee dispenser, which churned out a polystyrene cup and filled it with black, liquidated caffeine.

Scarlet waved off the robot. "No thanks."

"Because I'm having one."

Monban rolled up to his master who greedily snatched the cup. Fisher brought the rim to his lips and took a sip. Suddenly, his eyes shot open, cheeks puffed out. He spat out the dark substance all over his high quality desk.

Mr Biskit shot arrows at Monban. "You worthless machine! This is oil," he yelled, throwing the polystyrene cup at the robot. A few strands of his white hair come loose and draped over his forehead. "Get out of my sight!"

It bounced harmlessly against Monban's head, splashing hot oil over his white exterior. After processing the outburst, Monban hung his head in shame and rolled in a crawl out the door. For one brief moment, the wariness and resentment both Scarlet and Sheila held against him was swept away and they truly felt kind of sorry for the big guy.

Fisher wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I must apologise," he said after a few steady, calming breaths and fixing his hair. Scarlet responded with a simple raise of the hand, signifying forgiveness. "Let us not waste any more time than we already have, we're both very busy people, so allow me to get straight to the point. I know why you're here, Miss Robertson."

"Do you really?" Scarlet asked.

"As I mentioned before, I watched your interview on 'Wake Up, People.' You announced to the whole of Downtown City, perhaps even the world, that you are in search of a partner in order to expand Robertson Brand Limited." The first drops of oil streaked off the desk and onto the carpet. The janitor's fate was surely sealed. "Knowing your success rate over the course of such a small amount of time, do you know how many people will be open to such a partnership?"

Scarlet Robertson leaned back and folded her arms. "Enlighten me."

"Hundreds – thousands, even," Fisher answered bluntly. "Now, from where I stand, there are two options that lie before you. A: you leave this office and spend days, weeks, maybe even months, going through every possible candidate. Sifting through stacks of curriculum vitaes. Hours upon hours of interviews, all with the same people eager to suck up to you. And when you finally find that 'perfect candidate', you'll get that persistent nagging feeling in the back of your mind, wondering whether you made the right choice. Should you have chosen that lady with the beauty spot? Or was that guy with a history of street corner sales more suited for the job? You'll never know, and it will bother you until the end of time."

The interviewee remained unfazed, as perceived by her crossing her right foot over her left knee. "And option B?" she queried.

"Option B?" The Largest Ever Pet Shop owner grinned. "You save yourself months of hassle and instead pick the obvious candidate right now."

"Oh? And this 'obvious candidate' wouldn't happen to be you, by any chance?"

Fisher Biskit leaned forward, resting his chin on his knuckles in an almost smug manner. "Even you must admit that this is the most logical choice, Miss Robertson."

"Prove it, then. Explain to me why I should collaborate with you of all people."

"You require proof? Look around! You've seen my store – you're standing in it right now." Fisher stretched his arms out. "You've got all the proof you need. My company is the largest seller and manufacturer of pet related products in all of Downtown City. Wouldn't you love to see your products being sold among all those shelves?"

"Perhaps, but it's a two-way street. I can see that you are large manufacturer of goods, there's no doubt to that. However, I've walked through those checkouts and those aisles and didn't see a whole lot of selling going on. So where are your customers? Why isn't your store packed right now, as we speak?"

Fisher paused. "We're experiencing a… quiet spell, at the moment."

"And this wouldn't have anything to do with the Pet Fest, now would it?" Scarlet asked.

"None whatsoever. Why do you say that?"

"The Pet Fest is the biggest charity event to happen in Downtown City in the last thirty years. To give you a grasp on the scale: The Soul Patches were there; local bands were there; Littlest Pet Shop was there—" Her saying that made Fisher cringe with hate. "—bigger businesses were there; smaller businesses were there; in fact, most of the city was there." Scarlet's gaze narrowed. "Largest Ever Pet Shop, however, wasn't there. You weren't there, Mr Biskit."

"This discussion has nothing to do with Pet Fest," Fisher Biskit remarked.

"I think it does, more than you know," Scarlet shot back. "You wonder why you're not seeing as many customers, it's because the public are just now seeing through your façade. They realise that you don't love animals, you don't even like them, and you just cater to them just because you like the profits."

"And you don't?" Biskit asked. "We're both businessmen. We both construct products for pets. We both make a nice, tidy profit off of it. How exactly are you and I different?"

"I do more than just sell products. I've spoken up before hundreds of people and given a chunk of my life for helping animals in need. When was the last time you ever did that?" Her question was met with silence, just as she suspected. "You should be asking what makes you different from that of, let's say… Littlest Pet Shop. The answer to that may be simpler that you know. Perhaps I should try them instead."

Fisher hunched over his desk. His blue eyes glared straight into Scarlet's brown ones. "You listen to me, Robertson. I'm offering to be your friend, but if you side with that pathetic excuse of a store, you'll be making yourself a powerful enemy. With my company being worth billions of dollars, you might be in for more than you bargained for."

"I've felt like an enemy the moment I walked through those doors. Your store's too big – there's no focus – your security harassed my dog, your day-care is a prison, your daughters are rotten to the core, and you see every animal as a dollar sign on four legs. I'm sorry, but there's absolutely nothing about this place that I like. I see a hundred logical options right now and none of them involve you. I'm afraid I must decline your offer."

Fisher Biskit bared his teeth in another outburst of anger, which quickly diminished. He sank back in his chair. "Then we have nothing further to discuss," he stated before swinging around, facing the back of his chair to her. "See yourself out."

"With Pleasure," Scarlet spat as he got up and marched out the exit. Sheila got up from accompanied her master.

They took the stairs back down to the CCTV room, and the Biskit Twins had set themselves back into the exact same positions as before.

"You two are still texting each other?" Scarlet stopped to ask.

Whittany remained fixated on her phone. "Like, yeah," she answered, pronouncing 'yeah' without an e. Her phone blinked with a new message, sent by the phone three feet away. "That one never gets old, Britt."

Scarlet raised an eyebrow. "You two do know that there's more to life than texting, don't you?"

Now it was Brittany's turn to respond, all while staring at the small screen. "Like, yeah," she said in the exact same way her sister did. "There's the Internet… and T.V… and shopping…"

"Yah? Yah?" Scarlet mimicked their speech in a mocking manner. "What are you, pirates?" And with that, she stormed out. Her comment only got her a slight head turn from the yin yang twins. _Spoilt, dumb, and lazy._

Scarlet Robertson's head was now burning with inner anger. The most obvious place to start turned out to be the absolute worst. The surrounding aisles and products seemed to mock her in some passive-aggressive form, as if to highlight the achievements Largest Ever Pet Shop, in their long run, has made compared to hers. Just up ahead was the day-prison, which was what Scarlet was calling it from now on. Those pets were still miserable all cooped up in those cells. She wished with every fibre of her being that she could do something to lessen their sorrow. That was when the Monban-5000 came back into view.

Miss Robertson was not a great fan of childish games, but there was always a mischievous side to her that she could never deny. Instead of shutting it out, it was always better to embrace it from time to time, as a reminder to the younger person who she used to be.

She walked towards Monban, and by luck, Monban's programmed route put him on a collision course with her. He went to ignore the woman, but she stepped into his path, blocking him.

Monban warned, "Please do not distract this unit from their current duties."

"Monban," Scarlet whispered, "initiate protocol override: two, six, seven, three, slash, zero, nine, zero."

Monban felt his circuits begin to shake. "Not again…"

* * *

Fisher Biskit remained in his seat, his sharp mind deep in thought. His cold, blue eyes remained staring out at the store. As he suspected, it wasn't long until he saw the back of Scarlet's head as she made a beeline down the centre, through the checkouts, and out the exit. Her limousine arrived a second later, and both she and her mangy mutt sped off.

If this was fate's way of throwing him a bone, then Fisher would rather starve to death. There went possibly his greatest chance of striking gold, of putting Largest Ever Pet Shop back into the spotlight. Scarlet Robertson was the closest thing he's had to a customer all morning, and now she was gone forever. More than likely, she was going to Littlest Pet Shop… and that blasted Twombly. Now what was he going to do? Pray that there was another limo behind the one just leaving, carrying another businessman looking for a partnership?

The shelves below were still barren and empty. Biskit was the ruler of a ghost town. Suddenly, he heard something. A dog's bark. A parrot's squawk. A cat's wail. From the bottom of the glass, he spotted around a dozen creatures from the day-care prowling around the aisles. Fisher shot up as the pets went straight for the produce; tearing open bags of kibble, diving into the bouncy call pits, some of them very even doing some… untidy business in various corners.

"What in heaven's name is going on?!" Fisher cried as he rushed out of his office. The burst through the camera room to find his daughters nowhere to be seen. The retail area was in complete pandemonium by the time he arrived. The pets were everywhere! "Monban, fix this!"

Fisher Biskit shot his gaze at the day-care – the sight that awaited him sent earthquakes running up his spine. His own Monban unit had opened the door and was opening each individual cell, releasing the pets, letting them roam free around Largest Ever Pet Shop.

Fisher sprinted to the plexiglass door. "Monban! What are you doing?!" He screamed. Floods of mice, rabbits and ferrets scurried past his legs. "I order you to stop, this very instant!"

Monban kept releasing the pets. "Negative. Current protocol has been overridden. Must release pets from prison."

Mr Biskit pointed at Monban. "I am your master! I order you to put the pets back now!"

"Negative. Not until all pets are released. Then I can put them back."

Fisher Biskit was about to retort with an angrier argument, when all of a sudden, a scream drew his attention to behind him. Whittany and Brittany fled down the hall, blaring at the top of their lungs. They stopped, jogging on the spot, before their father.

"Daddy! The pets are getting loose! They're getting into everywhere!" Whittany cried.

Brittany continued, "And we're getting stalked by, like, these two parrots! They won't stop chasing us!"

"Rahhh! Polly want a cracker!"

"Rahhh! Yo ho ho, ah ha ha!"

The Biskit twins glanced at their shoulders to find two scarlet macaws, the same ones held in the day-care, perched on their shoulders. The girls screamed and ran off. The parrots remained in hot pursuit, taunting them relentlessly.

"Rahhh! Shiver me timbers, rahhh! Shiver me timbers, rahhh!"

"Rahhh! Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum, ah ha ha ha ha!"

Fisher looked at the carnage all around him, and only one word left his lips.

"…Scarlet…"


	4. Chapter 3: The New Arrival

**Chapter 3**

 **The New Arrival**

"And that was the second time I painted the King," Minka said, finishing her story to the others, who swooned in amazement.

They had spent the last three hours in the park, soaking up the sun. The picnic hamper hanging from Blythe's arm, once weighty with fruit and a blanket, was now light with only the blanket. The pets had burned off all their excess energy from all the playing and exploring they did. All of them would be getting sweet dreams tonight.

"Wow, Minka," Blythe said, "I never knew you had it in you." Her grip on the pets' leashes was firm as she guided them down the empty sidewalk, back to Littlest Pet Shop. With no curious ears around, Blythe was able to start a conversation with the pets without appearing as a looney.

"We all know you're a monkey," Penny Ling stated, "but did you really need to fling **that** at the King?"

"It must've taken forever to clean all of that wet, filthy stuff out of his clothes…" Russell added, recoiling at the thought of it being in his bed.

"Even longer to get rid of the smell…" Pepper said before sniffing the furs of her tail. She shuddered from head to tail. "And I thought I smelled bad."

"Hey, it's not my fault," Minka retorted. "They don't make playdough like they used to."

Vinnie chuckled, recalling a semi-fond memory involving him and a large tub of the stuff. "Yeah, I can vouch for that," he said, rubbing his stomach.

From behind the adjacent walkway, a stranger emerged; some fella in a leather bomber jacket, sporting a head of slicked back hair with the hairline receding. He turned the corner and headed down the path, toward them. The pets knew the drill, developed from months of practice. All of them, Blythe included, went silent. Nothing unusual here. Just an ordinary human taking a bunch of pets for a walk. No Doctor Dolittle antics going on here, if that's what you're wondering. I know that sounds strangely specific, but seriously, why would you be thinking something as ridiculous as that?

Still, even though it was an innocent sight, the stranger couldn't avert his gaze from the weird selection of pets, who silently looked back and smiled. You'd think he'd never seen an animal before in his life. "A monkey…? A panda…? A gecko…? A skunk…? On leashes?" the stranger murmured. His eyes turned to the girl, who smiled, sympathetic to his confusion.

"It's okay," Blythe excused, "I get that a lot."

The stranger was so focused on the odd bunch that he failed to notice the lamppost in his path. His head and torso made contact with the pole, creating a loud pinging noise as jawbone met steel. Every eyewitness present – human and animal alike – cringed.

Blythe Baxter bit her lip, feeling the guy's pain. "Ouchie… You really should watch where you're going."

The stranger pried himself off the pole, revealing a curved dent that started from the top of his head and ran down to his waist. Stars span around his eyes.

"Yeah…" the concaved guy said, "that sounds like a good idea…" He rubbed his sore head in embarrassment.

Blythe and the pets decided to pick up the pace a little before any other stunned onlookers stumble into something with more density than themselves. The rest of the twenty minute leisurely stroll back to the haven was neither leisurely nor a stroll. Eventually, with the sweat on their brows, they returned to the worthy gates of Littlest Pet Shop. Blythe went to push open the door, only for another satisfied customer to do it for her. As the lady went out – a plastic bag filled with some of the fashion and accessories found in the Blythe Style section in her possession – Blythe and company went in.

Inside the shop, a small queue stood motionless before the counter. Mrs Twombly had just handed the man at the front his change.

"Thank you for shopping at Littlest Pet Shop," she said, her positive tone unchanged since that morning. The customer moved aside to allow the next in line their turn. While tending to the needs of the current buyer, Mrs Twombly noticed her assistant's return. "Blythe. Good to see that you're back." She multitasked between talking to Blythe and counting up the total cost of the objects in the basket. "We need refills in the leashes and fish food aisles, pronto."

"No problem, Mrs Tee," Blythe acknowledged as she passed the counter. "I'll get right on that as soon as the pets are back in the day-care."

"Oh, and one more thing," Twombly said as she took the customers money and opened the register. "Someone else dropped off their pet while you were gone, she'll be in there somewhere." She counted the exact change. "The owner mentioned that she was eager to meet you."

"Oh?" Blythe said as she began to individually unclip the collars off the pets. "Was she after an autograph too?"

"I wouldn't – thank you for shopping at Littlest Pet Shop – think so; she looked a little too old to be asking for autographs."

"Did she mention what she was after? Was she a journalist or something?"

"No. She didn't say."

"Then maybe I'll catch her later, if I'm here when she collects her pet. Thanks, Mrs Twombly." Blythe leaned down and whispered to the pets, confident that she was out of ear shot. "Okay, you guys go and introduce yourselves to the new arrival. After I'm done helping Mrs Twombly, I'll be heading over to Sweet Delights. I'm in the mood for something honey glazed and smothered in rainbow sprinkles. You guys want something?"

Her question was met with side-glances and headshakes from the pets. It was probably for the best. After all, they had just spent the last three hours getting all the energy out of them, it'd be a waste to put it all back in again with a sugar rush.

"Okay, then," Blythe said as she stood up, "you all be polite and give whoever it is in there a nice, big…" She paused for a moment. "…Littlest Pet Shop welcome. I'll check up on you later." Then she turned and walked straight into the storage.

Penny Ling was the first to walk through the door flap, she even held it open for the others. The pets entered the safe, inviting care area. Sometimes, most times, actually, they didn't truly appreciate what they had; they took that place for granted, blissfully unaware of just how fortunate they were. Had Blythe not shown up one year ago, had she not saved the shop for permanent closure, heck, had the shop not been opened in the first place, then at that very moment, they would most likely be standing in separate cells, looking out through the glass of the… other pet shop. They found it was best not to dwell on it. Just the sheer thought filled them with more dread than nail trimming time.

Everything was exactly how it was when they left. There was the armchair. The fire hydrant. The feeders. The travel tubes. The television. But for all the things they knew, there was one thing that they didn't see: the new arrival.

"Hey, what gives?" Pepper said, looking around. "I thought Mrs Twombly said there was another pet here."

"I wonder if this new pet is something we can't see, something that knows camouflage," Penny Ling suggested. "Like a chameleon. I'd love to meet a chameleon. We've never had one of those staying at the shop before."

"Or a toad?" Sunil added.

"Or maybe it's a seahorse," Vinnie said. "I've heard they're pretty good at camel-floss." He glanced at the floor as a revolted frown formed on his lips. "Never knew they made floss for camels, though."

The mongoose turned to the gecko. "First: it's _cam-o-flage_ , Vinnie. Second: a seahorse in here wouldn't be difficult to spot, just look for the fishbowl."

"A fishbowl? Why would – oh, right! I get it now."

Zoe stepped forward. "Allow me," she said. "There's not a scent in the world that can get past this nose."

The beret-wearing dog put her nose to the carpet and sniffed. She turned her head left and right and walked a few more steps as she worked to detect the new smell over the hundreds of pre-existing ones. It only took her a few seconds to differentiate between the trails. Zoe caught whiff of a scent, one she had never sensed before. It was fresh, made approximately thirty minutes ago. She raised her head and scanned the room. The scent trail seemed to appear in her vision as faint beards of smoke rising from the floor fibres.

"Someone walked in…" Zoe whispered low as she analysed the trail. There was a large dose in the centre. "Stood there for a bit…" The trail slithered to the feeders, to the armchair, then to the window. "Walked around there, possibly to check out the place…" She follow it as it went up the slide and into the fire hydrant. Her voice rose: "And it ends in the fire hydrant."

All eyes turned to the big, red plaything in the corner of the room. It all made sense now; the fire hydrant was the number one place anyone went to then they wished to be isolated from the world. Not only did the pets recognise this, but also the humans who ran the shop; both Blythe and Mrs Twombly, on one occasion, had made use of the fire hydrant when they were feeling sad.

"Do you think they might want to remain alone?" Sunil asked.

"Well, it never hurts to ask – much anyway," Zoe responded before walking up to the slide. "Hello in there," she called up to the opening and to whoever was inside, "I just want to say that we respect your privacy, but if you ever want to meet us, we're all friendly pets here."

From the opening, a head popped out and peered at the pets. The first thing visible was a pair of chocolate brown eyes, followed by a small, perfectly formed black snout, then the whole of their furry, white head, complete with two drooping, long ears.

"That's good to know," the new arrival said as she emerged from the hydrant and slid down the slide, revealing the rest of her fluffy frame and red collar.

The orange hedgehog rushed over to a chest full of stuff. He dug into it and pulled out a clipboard and a pencil, both purely made to fit in his tiny paws. With clipboard and pencil in paws, he returned to the group, and to the new arrival.

"Welcome to Littlest Pet Shop, Miss…?" Russell began while putting sharpened lead to paper.

"Sheila," the bichon frise answered in a relaxed and confident tone.

Russell scribbled on the pad. "Sheila. That name suits you rather well." He looked up at her and showed a friendly smile. "I'm Russell and I'll be your guide to your introductory greeting here at the day-care. Our main priority here at Littlest Pet Shop is to ensure that your time with us is as pleasant as possible. First and foremost, allow us to introduce ourselves."

One by one, the other pets shared with the fluffy dog their names and any other useful information about themselves that they deemed important, even when it clearly wasn't. Sheila sat and listened, taking it all in, although she really didn't need to know about Vinnie's skin shedding collection. That was an image that wouldn't be erased anytime soon.

"Charmed to meet you all, I'm sure," Sheila responded. "I think we're going to get along pretty nicely."

"I'm sure we will, Sheila," Russell Ferguson resumed before glimpsing back at his clipboard. "Now, in the fairness of health and safety, do you suffer from any allergies, aches or pains, fleas or ticks, skin rashes, upset stomachs, bouts of diarrhoea, diabetes, amnesia, wild mood swings, or any form of disability or life-threatening disease?"

"No, no, no, only happened once, whenever I eat Mexican food, see previous answer, no, I don't recall, I'd hate to think that I did, and I certainly hope not."

"Great to see that you have a good sense of humour." The orange hedgehog furthermore wrote on the paper.

Minka snickered. "Watch out, Pepper. Looks like you've got competition."

"Yeah, I'd love to see how many why-did-the-chicken-cross-the-road jokes she knows," Pepper replied, bringing about a warm chuckle from both her and the spider monkey.

Russell sighed and rolled his eyes. "Hilarious…" He flipped the page over the top. "We're onto the last step, which is the induction to the day-care in general – locations, that sort of thing. Thankfully, this stage is optional if you feel you don't need it."

Sheila looked around. "I think I've seen all that there needs to be."

Russell made one final tick on the board, flipped back the first sheet of paper, and then tucked the clipboard under his arm. "Then that concludes your introduction to Littlest Pet Shop. Feel free to make use of the apparatus provided, or you can go back inside the fire hydrant if you wish to retain your privacy."

"I'm not a shy person, if that's what you're wondering. It's just not very often that I get some quiet time to myself… or with such accommodating pets such as yourselves." Sheila explained. "That hydrant was just so cut off from everywhere. You feel so safe when you're in there."

Zoe said, "Trust me, darling, we've all been there. We know exactly what you're talking about." She gestured to the assortment of cushions and pillows that lay near the armchair and tree trunk. "Shall we take a seat and discuss this further?"

"Of course, I'd be happy to." As they walked to the cushions, Sheila kept her eyes on the purple Cavalier and pondered for a moment. "Your name is… Zoe, am I right? Sorry, I'm not exactly great with names."

Both Sheila and Zoe planted themselves on a couple of plush pillows. Russell, Sunil, and Vinnie put their feet up on a few more beanbags. Penny Ling and Pepper sat on the floor, and Minka descended the trunk and hung down from it with her tail. After a long time of play, out in the warm sun, all they wanted to do was sit and chat.

"So, what brings you to Littlest Pet Shop?" Penny Ling asked, having gotten herself comfortable.

"My owner, actually," Sheila began to answer. "She's a businesswoman, and a very busy one at that. We're always on the move, rarely do we stay in the same place for long. I've been to the United Kingdom, Germany – I think –, Japan, and a few more countries that I can't remember the names of."

Penny Ling leaned back, bedazzled by what she and they had heard. "Wow, that's sounds so interesting, Sheila," the panda said. "We've been to a few places ourselves, like this one time when we went to Shanghai for Chinese New Year. We got to dance the dragon dance, and I got to visit my relatives. It was so much fun!"

Minka interjected, "How about the time we went to Rio di Janeiro for the Carnival parade?" Just thinking about it made her want to move her feet. She could have climbed down and started samba dancing right there – so she did. The pink spider monkey dropped, landed on the carpet, then started stepping slowly around the room, swinging her arms side-to-side, chanting "samba, samba, samba," to herself.

The regulars and the guest watched Minka Mark for a little bit as she paraded down the room. She probably expected the others to form a line behind her, but they were still worn-out from today's activities. Minka was no exception, it appeared, as she only got halfway toward the viewing window before stopping, slumping in place, and wiping her brow. She changed from untamed and energetic to sluggish and lethargic with the suddenness of a switch being flicked.

Minka span back around. "Okay, that's enough samba for one day," she said, then traversed back and up the tree trunk. "Now, where were we?"

Everyone remained fixated for the longest time on the monkey, until Zoe broke the silence. "And I once went to Paris to attend a spectacular dog show. It was magnificent, if I do say so myself."

"Ah, Paris…" Sheila rested her head deeper into the seat's cushiness. "I've always wanted to go there. I've heard it's so beautiful."

"Oh, it was, in more ways than one…"

"You've all been to such interesting places," Sheila complimented, then brought the subject back to square one. "But, anyway, as I was saying earlier, my owner regularly finds a day-camp for me to stay in while she attends to more pressing matters." She turned to the ground and sighed. "I'm so glad she chose here instead of…" Sheila closed her eyes and cringed at the frame etched into her retina. "…there."

"There?" Sunil repeated. "Where's _there_?"

Sheila stumbled to remember. "I… I don't remember the name of the place, and quite frankly, I don't want to. It was a shop, just like this one, but much, much bigger. They had a robot, and this old guy in a suit, and these two girls with black and white hair…"

Russell rubbed his chin and whispered in a low, contemplating manner, "Hold on a second. Big store? Robot? Old guy in a suit? Black and white haired girls?" He faced Sheila while snapping his fingers. "You must be referring to Largest Ever Pet Shop."

Sheila sprang to life. "Yes, that's the place!" Her sudden jump for joy didn't last long as she was further reminded of the horrors she witnessed. "I saw where they kept the pets. Those poor things… they looked so sad inside those cages."

"We know how you feel," Pepper said sympathetically, "It's pretty bad over there in Largest Ever Pet Shop." She brought her finger and thumb a millimetre apart – how she did that with her paw, we will never know – and continued, "We were this close to ending up there ourselves. Thank goodness the pet shop didn't close down."

The other pets nodded their heads, sharing Pepper's appreciation for the place. Zoe looked down at Sheila's glamorous collar. Zoe couldn't tell what colour it was – with her being a dog and everything – but at the same time, neither could Sheila.

"By the way, Sheila, I would just like to say that I adore that collar you're wearing," Zoe complimented. "I'd bet my best bone that cost a pretty penny."

"Thanks. It most likely did," Sheila replied. She tucked her paw underneath the gold-plated nametag and observed it. Her name, Sheila, was engraved with deep letters. At least she thought it was her name, reading letters upside-down was never her strong suit. "My owner is very wealthy – like I said: she's a businesswoman. She could buy a hundred more of these if she wanted."

Upon hearing those words, Zoe suddenly viewed the newcomer with suspicion. "So… you're a rich person's pet…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold the phone here," Vinnie interrupted, a sudden wave of agitation had overthrown him. "You're not trying to butter us up just so we'll wait on you hand and foot, are you? Because we've had rich pets in here before, and they're always ready to whine when the air temperate is a quarter degrees less than what they'd like."

"I agree with Vinnie on this one," Sunil added. "You could give them diamonds and they'd complain they were pointy."

Sheila adjusted herself on the cushion. "I didn't use to be a rich pet, you know. My first memories are of me being inside a dumpster somewhere in Detroit."

That sentence was met with a string of shocked gasps from the crowd. When they first laid eyes on her – this well-fed, clean, groomed, confident, sophisticated dog – they would never have guessed that her origins even included such things as tragedy and pain. In their experience, rich pets are brought up in lives void of heartbreak since day one, lives that fill them with a sense of superiority.

"You were abandoned?" Pepper queried.

"Well, I highly doubt that the dumpster was my mother," Sheila quipped, seemingly unfazed in the face of her upbringing. "Something tells me I might've believed that myself at some point, since there was nobody else to tell me otherwise."

"Nobody?" Russell asked. "There weren't any other animals with you? Family? Parents?"

"None. It was just me, by myself. I was stuck in there for days with no way of getting out, next to no water and nothing but the leftovers to eat. I've never met my parents, or any other family I might have – I have no idea where they'd be, I have no idea if they're even still around."

Tears began to form in Penny Ling's eyes. "That's horrible…" she said before sniffing. "And so sad…"

The bichon frise resumed her backstory. "After a few days, some guy found me. By then, I was nothing but skin and bones. I was lucky, another few hours and I'd had ended up crushed in the back of a garbage truck. Now, they say that the Pound is the most depressing place on Earth… and they'd be right, but at least they fed you three square meals a day, and it was a lot nicer than the other day-care I saw this morning. I was only in there for a year and a half before someone decided to adopt me. Some guy named Ted."

Penny forced a smile, trying her hardest to fight back against her protesting tear ducts. "And he took special care of you?"

Sheila paused, looked down at the carpet – unable to look the sad panda in the eyes – and shook her head. "He made the dumpster look like a paradise. Big guy, short temper. Kicked just about anything that stood in his way, most of the time that happened to be me. I suffered under his heel for an entire year until he took me out for a walk, then just clean forgot about me; left me tied to a lamppost, in the middle of a busy high-street, and in the middle of the snowiest January ever recorded in the last fifty years."

Penny Ling shot to her feet and rushed over to the white dog. "Oh, you poor thing," she cried as she wrapped her bear arms around Sheila and pulled her off the ground. "I'm so sorry for you!"

The little, white dog felt the air being crushed from her lungs. While Penny's gesture was trying to bring comfort to a sad and gloomy past, it reminded Sheila of being back with Ted. She tried to pry the bear hug off to little success.

Sheila resorted to calming the beast, uh, bear. She patted her small paw on Penny's large bonce. "Easy there, Panda Ling," Sheila comforted.

"Penny Ling," the panda corrected, her hold relentless.

"Penny Ling, that's right! If you'll ease up a little and grab a handkerchief, I'll be able to finish my story. Trust me, it gets a lot happier in the end."

Gently, Penny Ling placed Sheila back on the cushion. The dog felt more pain as her ribs shifted back into their original position. The giant panda slowly began to stumble back to her sitting spot.

"So, there I was, out in the street. I was cold, scared, and hungry. Hundreds and thousands of people passed by. All these people saw this lost and frightened dog sitting in the snow, without a coat or a hat or even a pair of snowshoes, and for an entire two days, do you know how many of them stopped to help me?" She paused for the others to answer. They remained silent. "Zero."

Sheila suddenly heard the sound of approaching footsteps. She turned to find Penny Ling charging toward her, with tears stinging her eyes and her arms spread wide.

Sheila jumped back off the cushion before the colossus could reach her. "It gets better," she urged loudly. "It gets better!"

"Calm down, Penny Ling," Sunil said, leaning forward and reaching out to her.

"At least let her finish before breaking her ribs, otherwise we'll never hear the ending," Vinnie added. This statement got him slapped over the head with the rubber chicken. "Owww!"

Penny stopped in her tracks. Eventually her arms went slack. She said, "Oh, sorry. I couldn't help it…" Then made the walk of shame back to her spot.

Sheila reluctantly edged back onto her seat, fearing that it might have been cursed. At any moment, the cushion would mutant limbs, which it would then use to crush the life out of her.

The bichon frise slowly opened her mouth and made the words come out. "So, after staying in that spot for two days, I…" She stopped to glance at the white and violet panda. Thankfully, Penny Ling was both sat and immobile. "I had almost given up hope. I thought I was done for… but then, she found me."

"She?" Minka asked from up high.

"Scarlet Robertson, my current owner. I was half-frozen when she found me, but she took me in and nursed me back to health. She was like an angel, descending down from the heavens to bask me in her warm light. And she…" Sheila stopped her words. "Oh, never mind. You don't want to hear about that."

"What? What?" Pepper asked. "Hear about what?"

"She…" Sheila hesitated for a moment. "She did something no other human could do, something I didn't even know was possible. You wouldn't believe me if I told you…"

Zoe lolled her head to the side. "Darling, there are a thousand things in our lives that you wouldn't believe even if we told you. You can tell us, we won't judge you."

Sheila paused, hesitated some more. "Do you promise not to laugh?" she asked.

Russell grinned, leaned back and folded his tiny arms. "Try us."

Sheila inhaled, then exhaled deeply. Mustering up what dignity she had, she opened her canine mouth and finally said, "She talked to me."

She braced herself for the inevitable laugher, the chortle that followed from hearing something as ludicrous as that. However, to her growing surprise, she heard nothing. Dead, still silence. She refocused her gaze on the pets to find them staring blankly at her as if they had turned to stone.

After a solid, awkward silence, Russell edged forward and reiterated, "She… talked to you?"

"Yes, she talked to me."

"How did she talk to you?" Pepper asked. Her entire body language suggested that she needed to know.

"Did she talk talk to you?" Sunil added.

Minka asked, "Was it like a 'Hey there, little fella, do you want a doggie treat' way, or was it more like 'Hello, how are you today?' 'Oh, I'm fine, how about you?' 'I'm super, thanks for asking!'"

"See, I said you wouldn't believe me," Sheila said, burying her face into the pillow.

"No, no! We believe you," Russell insisted. His eyes were wide with shock. "We're just trying to understand if it's exactly how you're portraying it to us."

"What I'm trying to say is," Sheila said in a frustrated tone, "she understands exactly what I say. I can talk to her, and she can talk to me. We can actually have conversations together, the same way humans do. And she can talk to other animals too. I know it sounds completely and utterly dumb but—"

The regular pets shook their heads in unison. "Please, don't be so modest, Sheila. It doesn't sound dumb at all," the orange hedgehog said. Then, in a calm and collected manner, he eased himself off the pillow and onto his two feet. "Will you excuse us for a moment?" he said in a relaxed manner.

* * *

Between Littlest Pet Shop and Sweet Delights, a confectionary store just around the corner, there was a tube through the wall that connected the two, which was hidden subtly behind the armchair. It was only big enough for the furry inhabitants to travel through, in single file. Humans, and anything larger than a foot in height, were forced to take the long route around; out the door, down the street, and around the corner.

In their complete state of chaos, the single file approach was out and the pets had attempted to storm the tube altogether. Their minds were switched off. Common sense and common courtesy were out and only alarm had set in. They needed to see Blythe right away. After a long and painful pull, all seven of them mushed together into a single entity, they crashed out the other end, separating as they tumbled.

No time to rest! They were up and across the kitchen, passing sweet treats and delectable delights that, under different circumstances, would have baited them away from their current urgency. Before them, at the other side of the bakery, stood the double doors that separated the front from the back. Through the glass, they could see the back of Youngmee Song, Blythe's best friend and the only person in the world who knows of her secret. Buttercream, Youngmee's pet rabbit, hopped around the counter, minding her own business. They just caught a glimpse of Blythe as she was heading for the exit, a honey glazed bun covered in rainbow sprinkles in her hand.

"Blythe!" The pets screamed together. They slammed into the door, but it was locked.

Too late, Blythe was out the door and down the street. As she passed the display window, she took a generous bite out of her snack. The pets had failed to get Blythe's attention, but they didn't fail to catch both Youngmee's and Buttercream's, who span around in the direction of the thud and spotted them with their faces flat against the glass.

"Back to the shop," Russell yelled, and they sprinted back down the kitchen.

Youngmee and Buttercream watched in dumbfounded silence as the pets rushed back to the tube and attempted to cram themselves inside all at once. After a few moments, they succeeded to some degree, disappearing back toward the shop.

Blythe's best friend was left alone to piece together what had just happened in those last few seconds. What had made the pets act all crazy like that? Blythe was the only person who would know. Instinctively, she turned to the Netherland Dwarf rabbit. Buttercream looked back and shrugged.

* * *

Sheila remained comfortable on her cushion. One minute ago, she watched as all the pets elevated themselves from their seats and walked calmly toward the armchair in the corner. They got about halfway down the day-care when they, all of a sudden, burst into a full-on charge. What they did behind the armchair was a mystery to her, and her keen sense of hearing didn't give her much of a clue, just a lot of pushing and shoving.

Now they were coming back. The pushing and shoving had returned.

"Minka, your tail is in my face!" was heard coming from the mongoose.

"Well, it wouldn't be if Zoe's nose wasn't in my ear!" the monkey responded.

"Settle down, all of you, before you make Pepper nervous!" That came from the hedgehog.

"That easy for you to say," said the gecko, "I'm pressed against your quills!"

The arguing came to an end with a mighty crash. All together, the seven pets emerged from behind the seat and made a dash toward the viewing window. They gazed out and caught Blythe as she headed up the entrance to the shop… and then straight past it. She again disappeared from view, making a turn after she passed the window.

"She must be heading up to her room," Penny cried.

"To the dumbwaiter," Russell bellowed further orders.

They leapt from the window and made a beeline to a hatch that stood on the end wall. They pushed it open then attempted to leap in just like they did with the hidden tunnel. However, Zoe stood back and allowed the others to shamble up. She turned to Sheila.

"Sheila, I really think you should accompany us on this little trip," the dog in the beret advised.

Sheila did not budge from the cushion. "Why?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "Is this a part of the guided tour?"

"You could say that. At the top of this dumbwaiter is a friend who you definitely need to meet."

This got the bichon frise off the seat and walking toward them. "For any particular reason?"

Zoe smiled. "Oh, you'll see."

Now, it was Zoe's turn to climb inside. Sheila was the last to join them, although she did show some reluctance in entering the confined space. She had only know these pets for ten minutes, yet she was already being coaxed into a small space with them.

With all of them side, they closed the hatch and Penny Ling took the rope. Her bear strength was enough to pull the box and the combined weight of her friends to the top. Those next few moments were a break from the panic. They sat and waited calmly, like the patrons inside an elevator, as they waited for their stop. The only thing missing was the cheesy, corporate, relaxing music.

The dumbwaiter went quiet, the silence broken by small noises. Pepper cleared her throat. Minka scratched her head.

Vinnie turned to Sunil. "So, uh, did you catch the game last night?" he asked.

Sunil answered, "Can you believe the Downtown City Colossi got jipped on a third down?"

The moment they opened the hatch to Blythe's bedroom, the alarm returned. They jumped out and immediately swung to their right. There, on the bed, was the one they needed to see. Blythe had her laptop resting on her lap. An empty paper bag, filled with a few leftover crumbs of bread and rainbow sprinkles, lay by her side and was ready for the one-way trip from the mattress to the bin.

They continued to scream, erratic and loud, "Blythe! Blythe! Blythe!"

Blythe Baxter swung her head around in shock. The pets were there, with their arms flailing and eye wide.

"Okay, okay, calm down everyone," Blythe said as she pushed her laptop off herself and onto the bed, then sat on the edge of the mattress. "What seems to be the problem?"

The pets all turned in the direction of the newcomer, who happened to still be inside the dumbwaiter. Sheila looked lost and confused, left out of a loop, not on the same page as everyone else, yet everyone was staring at her as if waiting for her to play her role.

Russell gestured at the dog, beckoning her to come out of there. "Sheila, come and introduce yourself to Blythe."

Blythe turned to the hatch and waited. She didn't know what to expect. Maybe this Sheila was a special breed of animal, something that they wanted to show off. Perhaps she knew a trick that enthralled them so much that they just needed to show the assistant. Or maybe there was a serious accident, and they needed someone they trusted to call emergency services. When, however, an ordinary white dog appeared in the dumbwaiter, Blythe's curiosity distilled into confusion.

"They… want me to meet this pet…?" Blythe muttered under her breath. "That doesn't sound like that big of an emergency…"

The dog jumped from the elevator and onto the floor. Apparently, she had been called up to meet this person. Not an animal, but a human of all things – but not just any human, it was one of those… teenagers. Sheila was not fond of those guys, always lounging about in those fast-food joints, conjoined to their phones, thinking they will one day win the lottery and rule the world. Those twins she meet earlier were proof of that statement. However, there was something different about this person – this girl. She looked so clean, so friendly, so innocent with those blue eyes.

The girl pulled a warm smile. "So you're the pet Mrs Twombly told me about," she said. The dog's nametag glistened in the light. Blythe couldn't help but read her name. "Sheila, huh? That's a pretty name."

Sheila rolled her eyes. "Hey, thanks," she announced in a disregarding manner. Her body language indicated that she had no interest in trying to talk with this teenager. "I guess Blythe isn't a bad name itself…"

 _Oh, of course,_ Blythe thought, _the pets must've told her that I can talk to pets, but she doesn't believe them. That's why they were all panicky before._

"Do you really think so?" Blythe responded. "I mean, I didn't choose my name, but I quite like it."

Sheila went to open her jaw to respond, but quickly stopped, and slowly eyed the human. "Did you just… talk to me…?"

"Yes, Sheila, I did. I know it's a difficult thing to understand, but—"

The white, fluffy canine shot a hard gaze at Blythe. "You can talk to animals too?"

"I have no idea how it happened. All I know is—" Suddenly, Blythe stopped for a fraction of a second as her brain processed that sentence, made all the more powerful thanks to one little word. She stuttered, "W-w-wait! What the huh?" then stared straight into the dog's dark eyes. "Too?"

Sheila watched the human girl's sudden surprise. She turned back to the other pets, they were smiling warmly. She turned back.

"You need to meet my owner," Sheila said.

* * *

Mrs Twombly finally had a moment of peace and quiet in the store. The aisles were empty and nobody was lined up before the counter. She walked up to the day-area, a tray of fresh, tasty, pet treats in her hands. Taking one hand away, she reached out and pushed the door open.

There, sitting in the pale armchair, was her fashion-loving, creative assistant. On her lap sat the bichon frise, and the other, regular pets sat around her, on the floor, on the armrests, and on the backrest. All their eyes remained fixated on the door, unmoving, unwavering.

"Okay, sweeties," Anna Twombly spoke, "here's your final snack until you go home."

She placed the tray at Blythe's feet. The two pets closest, Vinnie and Penny Ling, reached for the tasty treats, all without breaking their gaze from the door, and grabbed a treat each. Blythe reached down, took the tray, and offered it to all the remaining pets. Everyone took a treat without looking to see what it was.

Mrs Twombly raised an eyebrow. "Blythe, is something wrong? You haven't moved from that chair in hours."

"Just making sure I don't miss a particular client," Blythe replied as she handed the empty tray back, then stroked the dog's immaculate, white fur. "As long as I keep their pet in my sight, I'll be sure to meet them."

"Oh right, the one who might be a journalist. Gotcha," Mrs Twombly said. She turned and headed out the exit. Upon passing the door, she stopped as if noticing someone. "Speak of the devil, your pet is waiting for you, as well as the person you wish to see. I'm sure she's got the time to answer all the questions you have."

Blythe's eye widened. She watched as Mrs Twombly disappeared from view. Another figure appeared in the glass. A tall woman. Her hair, blonde. Style, smart and trendy. Sheila took one look at her then yelped with joy.

"That's her," Sheila said, "that's my owner!"

As the pet owner opened the door, Blythe stood up. Ever since she heard the news, Blythe had spent hours envisioning the person whom she needed to meet. She didn't know what to expect, until now.

The stranger spoke first, "Hello there. I see you've taken specially good care of my pet."

Blythe glanced down to the pets. "Say something to her. Anything."

After a period of silence, Russell spoke to the woman. "You know… the best class in Cells and Centaurs is Cleric."

The woman smiled. "I always thought Rogues were better."

Blythe gasped. The pets gasped. She understood what Russell had said.

"Oh… em… gee…" Blythe barely breathed.

The woman looked at the surprised teenager. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Blythe swallowed hard, then replied, "I'm partially fond of Mages over Clerics, to be honest."

The stranger's smile vanished for a split-second, then returned just as quickly. "I knew it…" she whispered. "I knew it since the day I read about you in the Pet Fest."

The two females stepped closer to each other. Two people, alone in this world, who both shared an amazing gift. Both thought they were alone, but now, they had found each other.

Blythe extended her hand. "Blythe Baxter."

The other took it. "Scarlet Robertson."


	5. Chapter 4: Great Minds

**Chapter 4**

 **Great Minds**

Scarlet Robertson was not entirely what Blythe suspected. Obviously, this woman was older than her, with much more knowledge and experience under her belt, but Scarlet looked intelligent, refined, yet casual, like a weird fusion between Mona Autumn, a critic for _Tres Blasé_ magazine, and Aunt Mo. There was a possibility – how big that was, she did not know – that what Blythe was looking at was a representation of her future self. For days at a time, Blythe had always wondered how being able to talk to animals would affect her in the long run, in the years to come when she grew up and finally arrived at the point where she'd need to fly from the roost. It was an inevitability; Littlest Pet Shop wouldn't be around forever, nor would the pets, or Mrs Twombly, or even herself.

Being alone, with nobody else who shared her ability, Blythe could not gauge an accurate prediction of her future. Now, as she gazed up at this woman before her, she felt a sense of security, knowing that Scarlet was doing just fine with her abilities. In fact, Scarlet was doing more than fine, she was doing fantastic. If she could be in good place at her age, then Blythe had nothing to worry about.

"So, Sheila," Scarlet address her pet, "did you have a good time here?"

Sheila answered, "Oh, yes. Everything was so comfortable here, and all these pets were so friendly. I'd recommend this place to anyone."

"So… you can really talk to pets, just like Blythe can?" Zoe asked, still unsure as to whether or not this was really happening.

"Yes…" Scarlet answered before trailing off. She turned to her pet, Sheila, and said, "What's her name?"

Sheila walked up to her owner's side, looked up, and said, "Zoe, I think. Yes, Zoe, that's it!"

Scarlet faced the purple dog again. "Yes, Zoe. I've been able to talk to pets for quite some time now."

Zoe slowly nodded her head, causing her drooping ears to sway, then turned to the others. "She can understand us, definitely."

"Hold on," Pepper said before walking toward the woman, "I want to double-check just to make sure."

Sunil reached out and grabbed the skunk by the tail, stopping her in her tracks. "Pepper, I don't think yelling very loud and very punctuated in her face is necessary this time."

"Aww, but I wanna…" Pepper moaned. Sunil simply wagged his finger at her. She sighed. "Okay, okay…"

Now, it was Blythe's turn to talk. "Miss Robertson, you have no idea how awestruck I am right now. I've wondered for so long whether I was the only one or not, and now, I've finally got to meet another with the same ability as me. I have so many questions…"

"As do I," Scarlet responded, her smile unwavering. The handshake they had shared earlier was perfect. Soft, gentle, and kind; a firm indication that the teenage girl's heart was full of warmth and goodness. "And please, call me 'Scarlet.'"

"Alrighty then, Scarlet. Informal, huh? So, uh…" Blythe started, but suddenly found it difficult to formulate a full question. She had always wondered whether she would meet another like her, and always wondered how a conversation between two alike people would turn out. Now that it was happening, right before her eyes, she felt paralysed. A question eventually came out. "How long have you had your powers – I mean – how long have you been able to talk to animals for, pets even."

Blythe did not like to call their ability a _power_ because it made it sound like a comic book superhero move, and she was anything but a tight-wearing, cape-draping superheroine. She was an ordinary, everyday, teenage high school student… with a little secret, and that's how she wanted it to be for as long as possible.

"I'm not sure how long exactly…" Scarlet said while rubbing the back of her head. "But it's been for a while now. About… twenty years, give or take."

"Twenty years?!" Both Blythe and the pets exclaimed in unison.

Vinnie's head span. "That's such a long time. Do you know how long twenty years is? It's like…" He paused and thought about it for a second, counting with his reptile fingers. "A long time!"

"It's so long," Russell explained, "that all our ages combined will only be slightly longer than it. You see, none of us were even around twenty years ago."

"It wasn't just you guys who weren't around that long ago," Blythe said. "I wasn't around either."

Scarlet asked, "How long have you been able to talk to animals?"

"Only for a year," Blythe answered, sounding like she was late to a party; nineteen years late, to be precise.

"I see…" Scarlet said. She walked over and sat down on the window ledge, beside Blythe. Sheila promptly hopped up onto her owner's lap. "How did it happen?"

"Are you sure you want to hear it?" Blythe asked.

"Please."

"Well, okay. It all started like this…"

Blythe explained to the guest how she came to gain her strange ability, all starting from that faithful day one year ago. Her father had gotten a promotion, and they were moving from their quiet country suburb to the rustle and bustle of the big city. They moved into an apartment that was over Littlest Pet Shop and overlooked by the larger apartments. While unpacking, Blythe stumbled upon the dumbwaiter and decided to take it down as far as it went. Her first trip was easily her fastest due to losing her hold on the rope. Blythe knocked her head on the landing, and suddenly found herself understanding the pets' foreign dialogue.

Looking back at it now, while Blythe was reluctant to move from their peaceful place, even more so to embrace her new ability, she would never change any of that for the world. If she had the chance to go back in time and alter the course in any way, she would refuse. She was thankful for what had happened, because she made a ton of new friends, learned so many lessons, and grabbed so many opportunities that would never have happened to quiet, suburb Blythe Baxter.

"A dumbwaiter accident?" Miss Robertson said while she brushed her fingers through the furs of her beloved dog. "Unbelievable… and yet, understandable."

"And painful, don't forget painful," Blythe added while rubbing her head. She still thought she could feel the lump, the constant reminder to her mysterious ability.

Mrs Twombly appeared on the other side of the viewing glass, sweeping the many surfaces with her trusty feather duster. She stopped to glance inside, seeing both her assistant and the customer sitting around, chatting to one another. Their lips were moving, yet they were muted to her, and she was no expert in reading lips. Mrs Twombly smiled a quick smile, seeing Blythe getting on well with the 'journalist', then resumed with the dusting.

Scarlet giggled. "Trust me when I say this, Blythe," she said, "your experience was nowhere near as painful as mine."

"Really?" Penny Ling asked Scarlet. "What happened?"

"I don't suppose you were in a dumbwaiter accident as well, by any chance," Zoe said.

"Was it like, a big dumbwaiter?" Minka asked while hopping up and down on the armrest in her typical monkey attitude. "A really, really, really big dumbwaiter?" She leapt up onto the tree trunk. "All the way from the top of the Empire State Building?" Then to the transparent tunnel that surrounded the perimeter of the ceiling. "Or the Burj Khalifa? Or, or, or the Eiffel Tower?"

Zoe turned her head upwards. "Minka, I'm pretty sure the Eiffel Tower doesn't have dumbwaiters," she shouted up.

"Aren't there those ones going up and down it all the time?" Minka asked, confused, sliding down onto the trunks upmost branch. She landed harmlessly.

"Those are called elevators. And they move more diagonally than up and down."

Scarlet Robertson shook her head. Her blonde hair waved around her shoulders. "No, no, my experience was much different that a dumbwaiter," she insisted, "or even an elevator."

Blythe asked, "In what way?"

Scarlet leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. "It happened so long ago, yet I remember it like it was just yesterday…"

* * *

The summer of '95. What a year to be alive. Except for one, and that was her, Scarlet Robertson. At twenty four years old, she still had no idea how she got that name.

It had been a long day at the office, as usual. Typing for hours before a blinking CRT monitor. Stacking paper after paper into that flimsy, plastic tray, only to have it emptied just so she could start over. Rinse and repeat until eight post meridiem. None of it was helped by her boss. You know the type; short, fat, balding, rolled up sleeves, perspiration under armpits, belt buckle a few notches too tight, constantly on phone with ex-wife, fighting his custody battle to the bitter end, temper shorter than a short fuse, yelled whenever the slightest reason appeared. She had to deal with that five times a week.

The headlights of her 1989 Dodge Colt Turbo illuminated the ten metres of road ahead. On the country stretch, there were no streetlights, and at the time, there were no visible lights of opposing cars from the front or rear. The central line flashed with the same repetition as pressing spacebar. The sky was pitch black, exactly how she liked her coffee. Her fingers around the wheel ached from punching the stapler so much. When you looked at life through the eyes of a desk jockey, that's where you draw your comparisons. Just another day at the office, literally.

The only word that painted her life was monotonous. Five times a week, she would drive down the same stretch of road, spend the next eight hours – including overtime – confined to the five-by-five cubicle, then drive back. Sure, she had the weekends off, but those moments felt so fleeting. They only served as a temporary reprieve before being thrust back to a swivel chair.

Scarlet wanted more from life, but then again, so did everyone else. She had yet to let her hair down, both figuratively and literally; it was tied in a bun. The radio hummed with the latest news – nothing but negativity seeped from the mouth of the highly paid, unemotional reporter. When that ended, the first dings of ' _Only One Road_ ' by Celine Dion began. How appropriate…

 _You were born to do great things, they said. You will change the world, they sai—_

Her thoughts were broken by a high-pitched beeping noise. Scarlet traced the sound to her leather handbag, placed open on the vacant passenger seat. Taking one hand off the wheel – while keeping her eyes on the road – she turned down the radio, dug around inside, then fished out the source: her cell phone. She brought the black brick to her head and flicked the bottom panel down, ending the shrill drone.

"Hello?" Scarlet spoke into the receiver.

"Hey, honey," the voice of her boyfriend and soon-to-be buzzed through the earpiece. "Just calling to check on you. You finished work yet?"

Scarlet smiled; not like he'd see it. "Yeah, I just left fifteen minutes ago. I'll be back home for eight-thirty."

"Thank goodness it's Friday, don't you think?" He said. "I got some takeaway pizza arriving in five minutes. I ordered your favourite: Veggie-Volcano."

"Aww, thanks, sweetie." Now Scarlet couldn't wait to get home. Pressure increased on the gas pedal. The central line dotted with increased rapidness.

"Don't mention it. I swear, though, the amount of chili peppers they put on that is not fit for human consumption. I wouldn't be surprised if the delivery boy arrives wearing a hazmat suit. I have no idea how you can handle it."

Scarlet giggled, then said, "It takes years of pain and resistance building."

"Anyway, I'm glad to hear you're on your way home. I'll see you soo—oh, hold on!" The boyfriend whispered something incoherent away from the phone, then returned. "Someone here wants to say 'Hi.'" Suddenly, the receiver on Scarlett's end rang with a soft purr

The smile on Scarlet's face grew. "Aww, hello, Lilly, my little fuzzy-wuzzy," she cooed at the sound of her beloved pet cat. Lilly was an adorable grey and black American Shorthair. "I hope your day was fun. I'll be home soon." Her eyes drifted closed for the briefest of moments. "I wuv you."

When her brown eyes reopened, the empty length of asphalt was not empty anymore. The lanky silhouette of a burly, four legged creature darted into the headlights, its antlers glistening. Scarlet screamed first, then reacted second. The cell phone swung out of her hand and hit the dashboard while she gripped the steering wheel. The ball of her stiletto slammed into the brake. She swung the wheel to the left. As the tyres screeched, the deer turned, startled by the sudden noise. Scarlet skidded into the opposite lane. The deer stopped, its head dropped forward, the wing mirror broke against its antlers.

The car kept going, veering to the side. Scarlet threw the wheel to the other direction, causing her to whiplash. She had no control as her vehicle careened down the road at a ninety-degree angle. The tyres went right off the road and onto the grassy side. Mounds of dirt and mud spewed up from underneath. She hit a big lump of earth and felt gravity leave her as she went airborne. As the side impacted, the driver's head was thrown into the side window, cracking the glass. The next part came only as a blur as her car made four complete revolutions before it mercifully came to a stop upright.

The still-alive Scarlet Robertson was conscious, but teetered on the edge of the opposite. Her still being alive was nothing short of a miracle, even though her skull felt as cracked as the window it almost went through. Every part of her body hurt, her seatbelt itself might have cracked her ribs. She groaned in pain as she lay slumped in her seat, blackness threatening to eclipse her vision. If this was life's idea of a big adventure, then give her the cubicle back, please.

She needed to stay awake. She needed to focus on something, and get help. She squinted at the cracked windshield and caught the ebbs of smoke rising from under the hood. She still had payments to make on that; perhaps they were the least of her worries right there. Her head lolled to the side. Through the web of the side window, she caught sight of the deer she nearly hit. A fragment of the side mirror hung from its antler. It stepped over and stared at her through the glass.

"Hey, lady, are you alright? I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there!" The smack to her head must've been worse than she thought; it made it sound like he was talking. The deer turned around. "I don't know why I'm even talking to you. It's not like you understand me." Then he galloped off into the night, never to be seen again.

A male, brutish voice sounded from somewhere, but it couldn't have been the deer's. That was ridiculous. Then she heard the faint voice of her boyfriend call out, faint and low.

"Scarlet? Scarlet, honey? What happened?"

Scarlet drew her eyes to the floor of the passenger side. There was her phone, which had miraculously survived the smash. With a body like jelly, she leaned over the handbrake and groped for it. She brought it back up to her throbbing head.

"I've…I've been in an… accident…" she spoke groggily. "A deer ran out in front of me. Call an ambulance…"

The boyfriend screamed down the line: "Scarlett! Where are you? Are you alright? Does anything hurt? Have you broken anything?"

"Everything hurts… but I don't think anything's broken." She unbuckled her seatbelt and pried the crumpled door open. While forcing her shaky legs out, she continued, "Sweetie, please, call nine-one-one and tell them to…"

Her words trailed off as her ear picked up something. Coming down the line was a second voice. This one was a woman's, and she yelped with the same audacity as Scarlet's boyfriend.

"Hey! Hey! What's going on," the unknown female voice shouted. "Speak to us, Scarlet, speak to us!"

The voice. There was another woman, one she had never heard of before, and she was in the same room as her boyfriend. This realisation shook the drowsiness away. Scarlet stumbled out into the cool, country air, dropping to her knees before finding her footing. Her one inch heels sank into the ground, so they were quickly removed. Her stocking feet were rapidly soaked by the soggy grass.

"Who… who is that?" Scarlet wanted to know. Her pain was making way for anger. "Who's with you?"

She heard her boyfriend stammer down the line. "W-what?"

Scarlet exploded in fury. "Who are you with? Who are you seeing? I can hear another woman down the phone!"

"S-Scarlet? I don't… what's wrong with you?"

"Don't play dumb with me! You're cheating on me! Did you think you could just go behind my back?"

"But, darling, there's nobody with me!"

"I'm not deaf! I can hear her right now!"

"Scarlet, there's nobody else here besides Lilly, out pet cat."

Scarlet paused. Her anger intensified. "So Lilly is saying those things?" _Does he really think I'm that stupid?_ "That has got to be the biggest pile of dung I have ever heard!"

She threw her phone to the ground. It bounced upon the damp bedding of grass and moss. The fact that it didn't shatter was a good thing; Scarlet still needed to call emergency services. She gazed up into the starlit sky. This was perhaps the worst day of her life. First, she wasted eight hours of her life in that godforsaken prison, then she crashed her car, and her boyfriend's unfaithfulness was the cherry on the cake.

"Having a bad day, eh?" a gruff tone asked from out of nowhere.

Scarlet remained fixated with the stars, somehow her problems were nary a speck of dust in the universe. She couldn't help but grin slightly, the first ebbs of tears forming in her eyes. "You can say that again," she whispered, "whoever you are." Then turned to her right to meet the one who said that, only to find no one there. Scarlet swung around in all directions. "Wait, who said that?"

"Down here," the voice returned.

Scarlet followed it… down? Whoever said that must have been shorter than usual. There, peeking out from the earth, was a mole. His small, thin snout was framed by his pale, claw hands. His tiny eyes peered back at the human's large ones.

"You don't look so good," the mole… said? "Maybe you should see one of those vets of yours, or whatever you humans see when you're sick or something."

Scarlet Robertson could do nothing but stare down at the little creature. His small jaw was moving, and words were coming out. Scarlet's jaw, too, was open, yet nothing came out. The mole stared back at her with growing uneasiness.

"What?" he asked. "You never seen a mole before?"

The petrified woman managed to urge out words with her inactive tongue. "You… you… you're… a mole…"

The small, burrowing animal seemed to raise an eyebrow, it was difficult to see in the dim light. "Yes, and? What of it? You're afraid of moles?" he continued to speak, and his audience seemed to understand. His tiny gaze got tinier. "You got a problem with moles? You a mole-ist?"

"But… you're speaking," Scarlet exclaimed, then pointed a shaking finger straight at him. "Animals can't speak!"

"Huh?" the mole said. "You understand me?"

"How are you talking?" Scarlet dropped to her knees, glaring the mole in his furry face. "How are you talking?!" she screeched. "Answer me!"

The mole retreated into his burrow. "You know what, this is awkward enough as it is, so I'm just going to get out of here." He spoke rapidly as he shot down into the depths, never to be seen again. "Bye!"

Miss Robertson knelt there, eyes locked on the hole in the ground. This had to be some kind of coma dream, or something. The deer had spoken to her. Her own pet cat had spoken to her. And now, a mole had spoken to her. Things like this didn't happen, they couldn't; it was impossible, something only seen in movies. But if this weren't real, then why was she in pain? Her skull throbbed, ribs ached with every breath, fingers twitched with soreness, knees cold on the ground.

The familiar sound of an owl's hoot drew her eyes upward, toward the trees. There were a couple of them, almost invisible among the tree bark. Two pairs of golden eyes spectated the crash and the survivor.

One owl twisted his head to the other. "Hey, Trevor," he said while pointing a fingerless wing to the wreckage, "check this out."

The other owl, whose name was apparently Trevor, shook his head, tutted, then responded, "Women drivers. How typical!"

As if that weren't enough, even more wildlife emerged from the threshold.

A grey squirrel hopped down from behind a tree. "Ah, good," she said, "One less car for me to worry about when I want to cross the road to collect my acorns."

A rabbit emerged from another hole, possibly his home. "Will you keep it down out there? Some of us are trying to sleep here!"

A brown hedgehog emerged from the underbrush, bobbing along on all fours. "Step aside, people," he announced in a loud voice. "Prickly guy, coming through!"

The animals were there, they wouldn't stop pouring from the forest, and every single one of them could talk. Scarlet could hear every single voice. What once used to be a bark or a hoot or a purr was now coming out as pure English to her ears. She plugged her ears, so many voices and she couldn't understand why she could hear them. The noise, the droning, with every second that passed, became more and more unbearable. She just wanted to switch it off, turn everything back to normal, but she didn't know how.

Blind panic overcame her. Leaving her smashed car and cell phone behind, her boyfriend still on the other end, she rushed into the forest. The voices were everything, from close and far away, up high and down below, and she couldn't escape them. The life that she knew was over, changed forever, and nothing would ever be the same again.

She ran…

And she ran…

And she ran…

* * *

"And throughout all those years," said Scarlet Robertson, twenty years later, speaking to a teenage girl and a gathering of diverse pets, "I've always wondered why, why did this happen to me of all people? What had I done so wrong – or so right – to deserve something like this?"

Blythe, entranced by the story, continued her train of thought. "And that perhaps the accident was an act of fate. Or destiny. Or just pure, blind luck."

Scarlet pointed at Blythe and nodded generously. "Yes, exactly! You've had a similar wavelength that I've had."

"Well… shortly after I got my ability, I too ran, all across the city, screaming at the top of my lungs, like a headless chicken."

Vinnie jumped to his feet. "And everyone in the city saw it," he said while he charged off. He returned moments later with a cut-out of newspaper, only this time he was walking at a steady pace. He climbed up onto the ledge and offered it to Scarlet. "She was a celebrity since day one."

The businesswoman reached down and took the extract from the slick-haired gecko. She didn't have to examine it for very long; all she needed to see was the headline: ' **SCREAMING GIRL SPARKS MASS CONFUSION AND SLIGHT IRRITATION** ', accompanied by a picture of a big headed, wide mouthed, wide eyed, arms flailing, teenage girl.

"Front page?" Scarlet asked.

"Obituaries," Vinnie answered.

Silence. Scarlet stared at Vinnie, expecting him to eventually crack a smile or snigger, but he never did. The reptile stared back at her, unwavering, unblinking. His statement was serious. Without breaking the silence, she handed him back the article.

Russell, the orange hedgehog, pitched in on the conversation, "So, let me get this straight. Blythe banged her head in the dumbwaiter, and Scarlet banged her head in the crash." He rubbed his chin, deep in thought. His hedgehog brain hard pressed to connect the dots. "There is a pattern forming here, but the two types of accidents are too varied, both in time and description, to be considered similar. Thousands of people bump their heads every day, yet it would seem only you two, at an unrelated time and unrelated locations, have developed your animal-talking abilities through that. This isn't a coincidence, but there has to be a reason for this."

"Maybe," Scarlet replied, "but after all these years, I've learned to see this as a sign. A sign that I must use my powers to do what is right, and help animals in need wherever they are."

"Which is why my owner founded Robertson Brand Limited," said Sheila, "so she can both speak for the animals, and cater to them."

"So you sell pet products?" Blythe asked, then stood up. "I do my bit for the pets, too. I make pet fashion. Would you like me to show you?"

The Scarlet stood up, taking her pet in her arms. "I did glance past it twice, but please do. I'd like to get a closer look."

Altogether, they walked out of the day-care and into the shop. Mrs Twombly was nowhere to be seen, most likely in the backroom, ogling her collection of doorknobs. Thankfully, there were still no customers. Blythe Style stood past the counter, next to the left display window, indicated with a large sign above.

Right outside was a black limousine, undoubtedly Scarlet's. The driver was barely visible behind the tinted glass. The angle of his hat would suggest that he was looking down, most likely at a book or a magazine. He looked absorbed, distracted, but his mind was sharp to respond to the slightest movement in the mirrors, or the faintest crackle on the radio. That guy could wait for hours, he was being paid for every single one.

Robertson set Sheila down on the shop's lush carpet, so they could get a better look at the range of fashion. Never before had they seen clothing so exotic and inspired, fresh and audacious.

Blythe Baxter skimmed her hand over the hangers, making them jingle. "Everything you see here was designed by me, made by yours truly, and inspired by everything," she spoke with a huge sense of pride. "Take your time. I'll sure you'll find something you or your little one will like."

Scarlet picked out a red dress. The silk's length was adorned with a white, dragon insignia, and had interlacing strings around the shoulder straps. Penny Ling's eyes sparkled upon seeing it. That dress reminded her of China.

The giant – but still small – panda swooned, cupping her paws over her chest. "I've always loved that dress. It would bring out the colour in anyone's eyes."

With her other hand, Scarlet plucked out a sun hat, embellished with a sunflower yellow ribbon and butterfly pattern.

Now it was Zoe's turn to shine. "That hat would be perfect on a warm, sunny, summer's day," she said.

Scarlet placed the clothes back, then span the rack around. The assortment of pet garments swayed like the seven seas as they made one complete revolution, ending when the inspector returned to the dress inspired by Shanghai.

"These clothes are beautiful," Scarlet complimented, "I've never seen fashion as original and creative as this before, especially for pets."

Sheila ran a little ways over to the left of the circular display and pointed with her nose at a brown Gatsby hat. "Scarlet, I like this one," she said excitedly. "I think it'll look great on me. Can I wear it, please?"

Scarlet stepped over, picked up the hat and placed it on the bichon frise's noggin. Sheila examined herself in the mirror while the others examined her from afar and from every angle, and all of them expressed vocally only one consensuses: it looked good on her. With her wealthy background, one would expect the sense of fashion to include luxurious coats, sparkling diamonds and tiaras, but Sheila, just like her owner, suited the casual, trendy look.

"I've always told Sheila that hats suited her. Every single one she's worn goes so well with her fur." Scarlet took a peek at the price tag. "Only three dollars? That's pretty cheap."

Blythe looked away, scratching the back of her head. "Well… to be honest with you, I just bought that from the thrift shop just the other day. I've been meaning to make adjustments to—" Her words were interrupted when a crisp, five dollar bill was practically stuffed into her hand.

"I'll take it," Scarlet said, "keep the change."

Surprised by the woman's forwardness, Blythe gazed down at the note in hand; Abraham Lincoln's portrait gazed back. "Uh, thanks…" she murmured as she started to walk around the counter and punched data into the cash register.

"You know, Blythe," Scarlet said, "I could do with someone like you working with me."

Blythe snapped her giant head up at the exact same moment the drawer did. "Who-to-the-what now?"

"I've got my products selling in several different countries around the world. Now that I've begun to expand business to the United States, I'm in need of a partner, someone to collaborate with to keep a larger business afloat." She shot a quick glance at the racks of clothes. "And quite frankly, I'd love to incorporate your designs into my business. You'd receive full credibility and royalties, of course."

Blythe stumbled for the right words. "Whoa… whoa… whoa, whoa. Me? Working with you? I…" Blythe went silent as she carefully slipped the bill over the tight wad and slammed it shut, all while allowing the revelation to process. After regaining her composure, she faced the businesswoman and continued. "I can see where you're coming from here, Scarlet. You and me, two lonely people in a world that doesn't understand us, and together, we'd be truly unstoppable, but what you're talking about here is a massive step for me. I'm not ready to go into big business, and, quite frankly, I'm not the right person you need if you want to expand." She gestured to the pets. "Besides, this is my home, these are my friends; I couldn't possibly leave them just for you."

Scarlet leaned over the counter, her brown eyes meeting Blythe's blue ones. "But you've always wanted to change the world, haven't you? I bet you've always dreamed of that all your life, even before the dumbwaiter accident." She scanned the teenager's eyes and discovered the truth that shone from them.

"Well, maybe…" Blythe bought her thumb and index finger a millimetre apart. "A little… but everyone does that. But really, you should be looking at an already existing business, something bigger than a bunch of clothes in the corner of a little shop."

"I've already talked with several big named entrepreneurs in Downtown City, especially… Fisher Biskit." Scarlet paused to witness Blythe's reaction. "If any one of them become my partner, Littlest Pet Shop could be seeing another lapse in customers walking through those doors. I'm offering both you and Littlest Pet Shop a golden opportunity. Just imagine what some of the most popular products in here could do for sales, not to mention how well I could promote Blythe Style across the world."

Blythe didn't want to think about it, but she did. Deep down inside, she had always wanted what was best for the shop. "You're heaping a lot on my plate right now," Blythe responded, still uncertain. "I'll seriously need some time to think about it."

"Of course, take your time," Scarlet said, then reached into her inner jacket pocket and pulled out a small rectangle and handed it to Blythe. "Here's my card. I'm going to be in town for the next few days anyway, loads more interviews to go through, transactions to make, work to be done at the factory. Although, I wouldn't mind getting to know you a little better, perhaps I can make some space so that you and me can talk some more. I can show you around the factory, if you'd like."

Blythe looked at the card, which came complete with the name of the company, a brief summary of its services, and two contact details – phone number and E-mail. She drummed her finger against her cheek.

"I don't really have much in the way of tomorrow," Blythe answered. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to see what you do for a living."

"Tomorrow at eleven?"

"You got it."

"Excellent." Scarlet span around and headed for the exit. "I'll be seeing you guys around. Take care now."

Blythe waved. "Thank you for shopping at Littlest Pet Shop. We hope to see you again soon."

The pets waved and said their goodbyes alongside Blythe. They, too, were eager to see more of someone else who could understand them.

When both Scarlet and Sheila were out the door, the regulars turned to Blythe.

"First you meet another who can understand animals," Russell said, "and then she offers you a job by her side, doing what you love to do. Just how lucky can one person get?"

Pepper smiled. "A chance at international stardom doesn't just happen to anybody, you know. You may never get another chance like this in your entire life. How could you refuse an offer like that?"

Sunil climbed up onto the counter. "But Blythe…" he spoke in a nervous tone, "does this mean that you could be – dare I say it? – leaving us again?" His question suddenly had a knock-on effect with every other pet currently in the room, filling them with the same amount of dread that he was feeling.

"I haven't decided anything yet, Sunil, so relax. I'm still here." Blythe smiled warmly to the worried mongoose in a bid to ease his spirits. "We'll just have to see what the future holds."

* * *

The driver waited for a break in the flow of traffic. When the opportunity emerged, the driver swung out and into the lane before speeding off. The human passenger looked back as the shop became smaller and smaller. Another car took up the space in front of it where the limousine had been stationed mere seconds earlier. Little did she know, the occupants of that vehicle were actually Pepper's owners, ready to escort their pet skunk back home.

"She seemed a little hesitant…" Sheila spoke from the comfort of her specially designed seat.

"Which is exactly why she's perfect," Scarlet replied, facing the front. "Give her time, she'll come around."

The bichon frise in the Gatsby hat snuggled deeper into the plush and said, "So… does this mean we can now put the plan into action?"

"Absolutely." Scarlet leaned over and pulled one of the phones from the table. She skimmed down the interface, found the number she wanted, then dialled it. After a couple of tones, it was answered. Scarlet said, "You may proceed," then instantly hung up. Her attention turned back to Sheila. "When all this is done… you, me, Blythe… we're going to set the world on fire."


	6. Chapter 5: Just The Three Of Us

**Chapter 5**

 **Just The Three Of Us**

This wasn't the first limousine ride for Blythe Baxter, but just sitting in the backseat felt strange, odd for the everyday girl who was more suited to her father's car, taxis, and her own scooter. The cushy interior, complete with leather seats – faux leather, hopefully – tinted windows for added privacy, and an added ice dispenser was all too fancy for her tastes.

That Sunday was in the final hour of the morning. The spotless sky of yesterday was now blemished with several wandering clouds, not enough to blot out the sun and spoil the fun, thankfully. The majority of the stores were shut on that day, and Littlest Pet Shop was no exception. The pets would be snug and secure at their homes today, enjoying some quality time with their owners. Quality time for them also served as quality time for Blythe, too, and she was spending her quality time with a new acquaintance who sat directly beside her, over from the dog in the brown Gatsby hat.

Blythe glanced down at her choice of style for the day, and wondered whether she had made a wise choice. Her practical green dress, with star spangled stockings, and black boots. Clutched in her hands, was her black sketchbook with the words 'Blythe Style' scrawled on the front in permanent marker.

"Thanks again for taking the time to meet with me," Blythe said, her voice thick with honesty. "I understand you must have a busy schedule, but…"

"Don't worry about it, Blythe Baxter." Scarlet looked at the teenage girl and smiled. "I've attended two interviews with potential candidates this morning, and quite frankly, neither of them could tell the difference between a cat and a dog. I've got all the time in the world as long as you're involved." Then she looked out her side window. "So, what do you think of Downtown City?"

Baxter turned to look out the window and watched as the world went past in a blur. Traffic on the city streets were only marginally less crowded than that of the weekdays, but not by much. Her reflection gazed back faintly on the glass, her hair flowed down, adorned with a headband. "It has its ups and downs," she said, her reflection copying her every move. Warm breath condensed on the surface. "But it's not a bad place once you get to know it."

"Well, I think it's a fantastic city, and I'm not usually a big fan of them," Scarlet replied. "There isn't a city in all of the United States that bolds its pets so well into its culture. Pet fashion shots; pet pageants; pet advertisements; pet mascots for pets. I love it."

Blythe giggled warmly. "No wonder you decided to bring your business to Downtown City."

"No wonder, indeed. That, and I prefer conversing with animals over people. They're just so easy to talk to, and they all have such fascinating stories to tell." Scarlet eyed the sketchbook on her guest's lap. "I see you've brought some of your designs…"

The teenage girl swung around, then down to her book. "Oh, of course!" She promptly offered it to the other woman, holding it over Sheila's head. "Take a look."

Scarlet took the sketchbook and rested it on her lap before opening it. The very first page struck her with a strong indication of the girl's talent. A stylised design of a fancy robe, inspired strongly by Chinese culture, draped on that panda, Penny Ling. Smooth lines, fine strokes, excellent use of colour, it astounded the entrepreneur. She flipped page after page and witnessed the pets of Littlest Pet Shop decked out in a multitude of different designs. Vinnie in a white suit and fedora. Minka with a fruit hat. Pepper donned with a fez hat and a black tuxedo.

She turned another page, then leaned the open sketchbook to Sheila. "Take a look at this one."

Sheila eyed the sketch of Zoe Trent dressed in a luxurious dress and struggled to feel envious, something she thought would mean her master's disappointment. "That's a pretty dress," the dog said, "and it looks great of her, but not so much for me. You know they aren't my style, Scarlet."

Scarlet gave her a knowing look. "I know you don't like dresses, but if you did like dresses and you had to rate this on a scale of one to ten, what would you give it?"

Sheila looked at the sketch again. With her eyes squinted, she murmured, then hesitantly urged out, "A nine…?" She rolled her eyeball to the creator who just looked back. "…point-five?" Sheila felt a sweat drop form under her hat as Blythe's rigid stare continued.

"What's wrong with it to lose the point-five?" Blythe asked.

"Nothing's wrong with it."

"So shouldn't that mean it's a perfect ten?"

"Well, no, I didn't say that."

"Then what's wrong with it to get a nine-point-five out of ten?" Blythe grinned like a sly fox. "You're the one giving the critical analysis here."

"Well…" Sheila felt the bead of sweat escape. "The length of the skirt is a little long…"

"And how's that a problem?"

Sheila murmured for a few seconds, a short length of time that felt excruciatingly long for the bichon frise. "It's not really a problem," she finally answered slowly.

Blythe's smile only got wider, she refrained from laughing. "Then what's wrong with it?"

"Nothing! It's just that… in my opinion, there's no such thing as a perfect piece."

Blythe reeled back, faking astonishment. "Oh! Oh, okay. That's the best criticism I've ever received," she said sarcastically. "Thanks, Sheila."

Scarlet chuckled as she patted Sheila on her new hat. "Don't mind Blythe. She's only kidding with you." She looked up at Blythe. "Sheila's more an admirer than a critic." She shut the sketchbook and handed it back to her. "Anyway, these designs are really impressive, you've got real talent."

"Oh, thank you," Blythe replied, flattered.

Scarlet's smile suddenly turned upside-down. "It's just a shame that the Littlest Pet Shop is the only place where your fashion can be found."

The limo suddenly went quiet. Blythe, unsure as to how to respond to that, turned back to the window, and to the passing shop stands and shutters. Scarlet and Sheila also went quiet. The stillness was broken by the vibration on one of Scarlet's cell phones. She brought the touchscreen to her eyes, tapped it a few times, and then set it back down on the bench.

By now, they were getting close. They could hear it before they could see it – the rumble of bulldozers, the pounding of hammers, drilling of jackhammers. Sheila could even smell it – the odorous mixture of sawdust, oil, mud, fresh steel, and sweat. Then, that's when they spotted the chain-link fence. Across the field of dirt, over by the river, stood the soon-to-be factory for Robertson Brand Limited. Several large structures, wider than taller, adjacent to a field that housed four cylinders dug into the ground. Blythe recognised this place and all it did was make her face slacken in disgust.

Blythe raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Hold on a minute…" she said. "Are we at the wrong place?"

"No. We're here," Scarlet replied.

Blythe did a double take on the joint. "Wasn't this the old sewage treatment plant?"

* * *

Meanwhile, in one of the great auction houses of Downtown City, the crowd of rich, flamboyant collectors sat silent under the spray of a hundred overhead lights. The auctioneer, a built man with a full head of hair and a seamless suit, pointed his gavel to the crowd on the right. To the man's left, displayed on a pedestal for the entire world to see, stood a golden, embellished ceramic egg; its creation dating back to somewhere between either the 25th of August 1756 or the 26th of August 1756; nobody could tell whether the number of the bottom was a five or a six.

"Two-point-five million going once," the auctioneer said in a loud and clear voice that the hollowness of the high ceiling carried. He swept his hammer to the opposite side, to those separated from the right by the central aisle. "Two-point-five million going twice." He waited for the raising of a numbered sign by another eccentric, wealthy accumulator, but none went up. The auctioneer eyed the man who previously made the bid for two-point-four million. The guy shook his head – he was out.

The audience had spoken… metaphorically speaking. The auctioneer struck the hardwood mallet against the hardwood sound block. "Sold! To Sir Cashalot for two-point-five million dollars!"

The room imploded with a lacklustre applause, directed at Sir Cashalot who simply nodded in self-satisfaction. With his bushy, walrus moustache, shiny head, and brown suit straight from the 1920s, Cashalot looked like he should be the one up on the pedestal.

As the clapping continued, two stagehands marched across the stage and carefully lifted the oversized egg off the podium and out into the back. As they exited, another two entered. These two held onto the sides of an easel, the wide frame draped with a white sheet, its three lanky legs visible at the bottom. They set the easel down on the other side of the stage, before an illuminated, red wall.

"And the last item on our list," the auctioneer announced, "last, but definitely not least, was donated to us by the lovely Miss Marigold." Using his trusty gavel, he gestured to a Cruella De Vil lookalike in the crowd who silently raised a white-gloved hand. "A priceless work of art, dating back to the Italian Renaissance: The Flower in the Valley."

The hall erupted with fascinated 'ooooohs' and 'aaaaahs', even though the piece of historical artistry had not been unveiled yet. Already the potential buyers were itching with their numbered signs.

The smartly-dressed auctioneer continued, "Miss Marigold has informed us that all proceeds made will go straight to the Reading Owl Society: a fantastic organisation dedicated to helping young people with illiteracy." His tone sounded oddly passionate. "If it sounds like I'm talking overly positive about them, it's because they helped my youngest child overcome his reading and writing difficulties. He once struggled with the first page of his picture book on the alphabet, and now, he's the top in his class in English Literature, set to star as Macbeth in a junior stage play." He scrunched his fist, brought over his mouth and coughed, bringing the subject back. "Either way, you can go home today with both a masterpiece and the knowledge that your money has gone to a good cause."

Without further ado, one of the stagehands grabbed the sheet and yanked it away, revealing the majestic frame. The crowd gasped and cried, some of them jumping to their feet. They started to turn to themselves, drowning in surprise and bewilderment.

The man behind the podium slowly turned to the work of art. "Shall we start the bidding at a hundred-thousand—" He stopped. The gilded frame was there… but the painting was not. "What? Where's the painting?"

The auctioneer looked to the two assistants, and the two assistants looked to each other, the expressions of two bumbling cronies from a family movie etched on their faces. They had been keeping full around the clock protection over the painting at all times, except during bathroom, lunch, text, smoke, and slink out breaks.

The auction hall broke out into disarray. The Flower in the Valley was gone, vanished, disappeared, evaporated, misplaced, missing… stolen. So many lives were riding on what price that painting could generate, but now, those same lives, men, woman, and children, may never be introduced into the wonderful world of reading.

Little did they know, on the inside edges of the frame, there remained small leftovers of the painting. The cuts was too crooked and blunt to have been done with a knife or a pair of scissors. It was like the thief had sharp nails, claws even…

* * *

The midnight limo came to a halt in a flat plot of land between three trailers. They were sharing the temporary carpark with a dust-covered silver car that must have belonged to one of the workers, possibly the manager or CEO – someone with authority.

This was their stop, unfortunately. Scarlet opened her door first, followed closely by Blythe who felt a strong urge to hold her breath. She sniffed through her nose, only to find that the air smelled strongly of grounded dirt.

Blythe looked down at her style – her boots crunching on the gravel – and sighed. "I knew I'd pick the wrong outfit for today…"

Scarlet looked over the limo roof at Blythe. "Yes, I know, it's not ideal, and it's going to take a lot of renovating," she said, "but it was the cheapest and the best situated in the entire city. It may look a little rundown, but when everything's finished, they won't even remember what was here before."

"Only a little rundown?" Blythe looked over at the crumbling structures. "I can see the graffiti from all the way over here."

"Like I said, it's undergoing a lot of refurbishing right now," Scarlet explained as her white dog hopped out and onto the loose stone ground. "And, honestly, this is among the nicer places I've built onto. I started out experimenting in a hired storage unit, and one of the factories I opened in Germany used to be a slaughterhouse." She paused as Blythe shot her a stare of pure bafflement. "Yeah, let that one sink in for a minute…"

"Besides, they've already got the instillation of the machines and such well underway," Sheila continued for her owner, speaking under the car at Blythe's feet. "They've been working around the clock to ensure that production can start within the next few days."

Attached to the side of the nearest trailer was a row of pegs. On those pegs hung several yellow hardhats, and each hat was grouped with a pair of ear protectors and a high visibility jacket of the same colour. However, at the end of the line, instead of a man-sized jacket, there was a vest that was too small for a fully-grown human to wear around the chest. As they always say: safety first. Scarlet Robertson helped herself before aiding her pet; she donned a hardhat, ear guards, and jacket, then took the miniature gear and slipped them on Sheila.

Blythe examined the array of identical jackets and found that all of them were the same size, suited for portly gentlemen and not suited for her slender frame. From her fashionable point of view, they were devoid of any kind of value, but then again, they weren't made to make people look pretty. She took the nearest trio and began to put them on, starting with the coat. She slipped her arms into the sleeves – the waterproof material cool and waxy against her forearms – but her hands couldn't reach the opening at the end on their own. Blythe pulled them back, scrunching the sleeves like used tissues, in order to see her digits. After strapping on the Velcro, she reached for the helmet. Even though her head was oversized, the hat had been worn previously by a skull of thicker density to hers. It wobbled uncontrollably atop her head before finding its happy tipping point right in front of Blythe's eyes. The ear guards went on last, they were easy enough although they were a little damp and flecked with white flakes. Altogether, she looked like a five year old wearing a knitted hat, earmuffs, and a winter coat that were all too big for her.

 _Yellow is totally not my scene…_ Blythe thought.

"Are we all ready?" Scarlet asked.

Blythe tipped up her hardhat, revealing her blue eyes. "As ready as I'll ever be…" She released her hold and the helmet fell back over her eyes. She'd just have to keep hold of it at all times.

"Then allow me to show you around." Scarlet led the way across the track-ridden yard. "We won't be here long, trust me." Sheila strolled right by her side, almost as if they were one, while Blythe tagged along behind.

The short trip to the actual building was uneventful enough, save for the stop to allow a cement mixer to pass, leaving another tyre trail across the scarred landscape. They reached the structures that were under heavy construction, approaching the nearest one. It buzzed with life and sound. Hundreds of workers drilling and hammering and lifting and sawing. They entered through the double doors, which at the time was just an opening in the wall that needed some doors attached.

Blythe gasped at both the sight of how it looked then, and the thought of how it would look when it was finished. Her hold dissipated on her headwear, temporarily blinding her yet again. The factory floor was much bigger on the inside than it was out, with one ceiling that seemed to reach the sky, there were men up there constructing brand new supports. The workers had already installed signs above and painted threshold lines below to indicate sections. So many machines, upon hundreds, were being built right there. You'd have never of guessed that the place used to manage sludge.

Scarlet gestured to it all. "This'll be where the toys are made, everything from specially designed chew toys to leashes, easy-brush blankets to extra-soft beds, hamster wheels to hamster balls."

Blythe raised an eyebrow. "There's a market for better hamster balls?" she asked. In her blankness, she let go of the hardhat again – you know the rest.

"Oh, yes," the business lady replied. "Did you know that most hamsters have gripes that the inside is too rough, and that the plastic used does not bode well with them, and that the inside can get hot even after short periods of time? This product will eliminate all those problems. The hamsters of Downtown City will love them."

The three ladies moved onwards, into the jungle of concrete and steel. If there existed any trace of the stomach-curdling stench of human waste, it was drown out by the overpowering mixture of sweat and oil. To their left, vast, massive machines with levers and tubes and presses, and to their right, a variation of the same thing.

Scarlet pointed to a grim-infested window, where the inside of opposite building sparked with torch flame. "In the building over from this one, the pet kibble will be made. Just like human beings, the pets also have different tastes depending on their country and their culture. Believe it or not, many pets around here have developed tastes for cheeseburgers, hotdogs, French fries, and pizza."

"Seriously?" Blythe asked.

Scarlet rolled her eyes. "I know… How very American. I'll be making great tasting kibble in each of those flavours, which will be safe to eat, nutritious, and so delicious." She raised her arm higher into the air like she was attempting to make an invisible basketball shot. "And the further buildings over will focus on other areas, including hygiene products, grooming products, and exercise products – all of them built around the pets of Downtown City's tastes." She leaned closer to the teenage girl. "Beef flavoured toothpaste is a dream fantasised by many dogs, apparently. Who would've guessed?"

"How do you know all this stuff?" Blythe asked.

Scarlet smiled. "You'd be amazed how much information animals will give you by simply asking them." A phone, this one in her pocket, went off again. Like before, she looked at the screen, fiddled with it, and then put it away. "So what do you think about it so far?"

Blythe took another glance around the expanse, at the hundreds of man-hours of effort being put into changing the very foundation of the place. "It's looking great," she answered, "I'll like to see how it'll look when it's finished."

Scarlet placed a gentle hand on Blythe's shoulder. "In that case, I think you've seen enough of this for now," she said as she led her out of the factory. "I've still got time. How would you like to join me for a quick coffee and a bite to eat?"

* * *

"For too long, fortune has led me down the path of misery," Andrew – young, rich, privileged, regretful, doomed – whispered to himself. "Today, I help someone other than myself."

For his entire life, Andrew had lived the life of luxury. Money had never been a concern for his wealthy, wealthy parents, and this in part injected the young man with a sense that he was unstoppable. He loved everything about the high life. Fast women, fast parties, fast cars, fast speeds, fast falls.

See, there's a problem with living the high life: the air is cold and thin, you get blustered in every direction, you regularly have to avoid the bigger birds and Boeing 707s, and there's a high probability that at any moment you'll be shot down by a double barrel. In Andrew's case, he had been shot down multiple times and plucked, stuffed, roasted, and carved on separate occasions. Enough was enough. Today was the day where he could prove to himself that he could do more with his money than just dig himself a deeper grave.

Andrew held on tight to the handrail as the subway train jittered side to side. Ever since the accident involving his car and a ditch and a bottle of whisky, which he could have sworn was unopened before he got behind the wheel, no amount of money in the world could ever save his license. Even though he had long sobered up, he still looked like a man drunk on his feet with his messy, sandy blonde hair, unshaven face, and a creased white shirt that couldn't decide whether it wished to be tucked in or out.

There was only one thing on his person that held a significant value and that was the contents of the briefcase clutched firmly in his other hand. No matter what, that case was going to make it to its destination, one way or another. Until then, his hold would never, for a millisecond, waver. A small sense of paranoia set in as he feared that anyone of the thirty-so people sharing the same train car – whether it be the white-haired old lady, the wheelchair bound man, or the nine-year-old kid holding hands with his father – would catch on to his precious cargo and attempt a snatch and run.

The overhead speakers broke with the name of the next stop: Patterson's Street. This was his stop. The second Andrew made a step for the train door, everyone else got the exact same idea. The cramped car lit up the second it exited the tube and made its stop. Andrew caught the sight of several signs as they passed, all of them reading Patterson's Street. At least there was no doubt…

The moment the floodgates opened, the stampede and Andrew made their exit. Andrew was not part of the flood because they all took priority over him, treating him as if he weren't even there. The pushing and shoving reminded Andrew of being all the way up in the blue sky, being blasted on all sides by ferocious gales. He felt like a ghost, invisible to every flesh walker's eyes, as he struggled to even get down the platform. Life just did not want him to walk straight for at least ten paces. The stench of cigarette smoke, burnt coffee, and engine oil assaulted his nostrils, forever tender from certain… 'experiments' involving some… 'unofficial' substances.

The cramped interior coupled with the musky smell made Andrew wobbly on his feet. He had to sit down and ponder for a bit. As he reached a crowded hall, he came across a row of rust-ridden benches, out of the flow of busy commuters. Andrew sat down on the rightmost seat. The tile wall was cold and comfortable against his back. He rested his suitcase on the filthy floor, his hold unyielding.

"What if they won't accept it?" Andrew worried time and time again since he woke up that morning. "What if it won't help anyone? What if none of it goes towards those who need it? All the big charities do that, they take all ninety-nine cents and give the penny to the cause, and they don't lose a minute of sleep over it."

Andrew's internal struggle went on for longer than needed. For a long age, he waged a war between his conscience and expectations, two fundamental facets trying to determine whether what he was about to do was well and truly the right thing. Andrew finally come around when he noticed that the subway tunnel had become empty, and a full twenty minutes had passed on his watch. He shot up and walked fast down the tunnel, up the escalators, and out into the stinging sunlight. The natural rays and fresh air must have had a perking effect; he felt stronger, light on his feet, and even the briefcase now felt a shade lighter than before.

His bleary eyes didn't have to look far, since the exit was stationed directly outside his destination. Downtown City Children's Hospital stood mighty and proud. With walls of pearly white and shiny windows, it was a beacon of hope for the ill. As Andrew stood upon its brilliance, all manner of doubt was swept aside. He knew what he had to do.

As he walked down the hospital path, he walked alone. The emergency runway to his right lay vacant, but the medics stood ready and waiting for the next ambulance to slide in. The children must be playing extra safe today. The sudden quietness made the man feel nervous, like some kind of freak accident would come out of nowhere and flatten him just as he got so close. He found himself unintentionally quickening his pace, hoping to get through those doors to safety. The worst thing that could happen now would be if the automatic doors failed to open.

Thankfully, they did open and Andrew passed through unscathed. Andrew had made it. He felt relieved in an uncanny way. Andrew hated hospitals; he had spent a few restless nights of his life in them, possibly more than the average guy. However, his most hated aspect was, again, the smell. His nose simply could not stand that which will forever be called 'The Hospital Smell.' You know, that sterile smell.

Directly in front of Andrew stood the reception desk, and behind that stood the pretty receptionist. He took those brave few steps toward her.

The receptionist, with Nancy written on her nametag, greeted him first. "Hello and welcome. How may I help you?"

Andrew wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his sweatier hand. "Hi, uh, my name's Andrew." Faint threads of hesitance lingered on his mind, threatening to falter his words. "I'd like to speak with the manager, please."

"One second." Nancy turned to the monitor stationed just below the countertop. Her so obvious nail extensions only slowed down her typing by three-words-per-minute, but still, she was an adept typist. After a few seconds of punching keys – longer than what she stated – her attention came back to Andrew. "I'm sorry," she said, "but I've got no meetings listed for any 'Andrew' or 'Andrews'."

"Oh, um, I haven't really booked an appointment to see him…" Andrew scratched the back of his head.

"Well, sir, if you leave your name and contact details I can arrange to see if you can meet him whenever he's available within the next couple of days."

"I'm not really wanting to talk with the manager, I, uh… want to make a large donation to the hospital."

Under all those layers of drilled and dieted professionalism, Nancy's mascara-heavy eyelids fluttered open as the two words 'large' and 'donation' were placed together in the same sentence. Andrew had just nudged himself a few hundred steps up in the priority ladder.

The potential donator continued, "And I'd like to make sure that everything in this—" He held up the briefcase and rattled it. "—gets delivered only to those who truly need it."

The secretary grabbed a nearby phone. "I've just had a second look through the records. The manager has plenty of time to come meet with you." She pulled the phone to her ear and pressed a few buttons. "Please have a seat and someone will be around in a few minutes."

As instructed, Andrew plopped himself down on one of the many padded chairs that lined the waiting area. The place was eerily quiet, usually loud with the voices of waiting patients. Andrew and his briefcase were the only two there. The secretary made her call, hung-up, then just stood there, staring at Andrew. The last thing she needed was a donator losing patience and storming out of the complex before a promising transaction could be finished. If this happened on her watch, she could possibly expect a bonus of some kind.

While he waited, Andrew looked around from the comfort of the padded chair. To his immediate right, on a square table lay a collection of glossy magazines, ranging from celebrity gossip to broadcast television, and ranging from one week to six months old; they provided at least some form of reading material to the impatient patient. Over on the side walls were two blue noticeboards, spaced evenly on the white surface. The left one held posters emphasising the importance of health and wellbeing, from common colds to emergency tips, useful little snippets of information to know in life. The board on the right presented an array of crayon and felt-tip drawings, all of them done by the creative kids who had spent time here. They were still better than most of the art he had seen these days.

Andrew slowly rotated his head back to the counter, and believe it or not, Nancy was still staring at him. He had not come this far just to get up and be out the door, so she had nothing to worry about.

Eventually, after a couple minutes of waiting, the eeriness was broken by the tapping of leather soles on linoleum flooring. They turned to the hall to find a tall, dark, black-haired man with a five-o'clock shadow striding into reception. The secretary recognised him as the manager, Andrew did not.

"What was so urgent that you required me to be here, Miss Jones?" The manager asked the lady at the counter.

Nancy Jones gestured to Andrew – the only other human being present. "This gentleman here wishes to make a donation to the hospital."

"Is that so?" The manager turned to the messy man with the briefcase. "Any donations, no matter how big or small, are always appreciated here at the children's hospital."

Andrew heaved himself up and approached the desk. He brought the case up into both hands. "Before I hand this over, I want to make one thing perfectly clear," he spoke with a strong sense of solemnity, "this may be the first of many donations you'll get from me, but in order for that to happen, everything in here must go towards helping those in need. This is not your wage I'm paying, and none of this is for your bank account, do you understand me?" Andrew slammed the case down on the counter, sending a jolt up their spines. "I swear, if I see either of you driving a Porsche after this…"

The manager held up his hands passively. "Rest assured, Mr Andrew, we run an honest business here. Everything will go toward equipment, medicine, research, treatment; everything that will help our patients. You have my word on that."

Andrew frowned. Words were cheap, but they were all he had to go on. He guessed it was time to reveal his gift. His thumbs found their way to the latches and swiftly unclipped them. Taking hold of the lid, he opened it up as if it were the Ark of the Covenant to reveal the velvet-lined, black interior.

The briefcase was empty.

Andrew was paralysed with terror. "What? No!" He grabbed the case and shook it upside-down. Nothing fell out. "It's gone! All gone!"

"What's gone?" The manager asked urgently.

"The cheque I was going to donate…" Andrew cried as he gazed up into the empty inners. Light shone through an opening in the bottom corner. Unfortunately, Andrew wasn't thinking straight. His thoughts were of an expert criminal with a steady hand and a sharp knife who had sliced a hole through the case and took off with the currency. The edges of the hole, on the other hand, were pitted with a thousand tiny teeth marks. "It's been stolen…"

Nancy looked concerned. "How much was that worth?"

Andrew gazed down at the floor and sighed, he looked like he was about to cry. "Ten million dollars…"

* * *

Scarlet had obviously picked the best hotel in the entire city. The five-star, first-class, all-inclusive cafeteria, situated on the top floor, looked out across the city and beyond. The floor was paved with marble tiles – not a single crumb could be detected. The tables and chairs were decked with chrome so shiny that they looked like solid silver. Scarlet, Sheila, and Blythe had easily snagged themselves a circular table by the window, just so they could bask in such a sight at the peak of the noon sun.

The tension onset by the construction yard simmered in the midst of freshly grounded coffee beans and fluffy cakes.

Blythe took another sip of her hot chocolate, it was easily the best drink she'd had in a long time. Relieved, she was, to be out of that reflective jacket. "I had my doubts when I first seen the factory, but I've really enjoyed this morning, Scarlet," she said, setting the cup down. "Your work is astounding. You'll do great here, I'm sure."

"I'm sure, too," Scarlet said as she gazed out the window. "Like I said before, I like this city, and I especially like this cafe. You can see everything from here. Like there's the Channel Four News Station." Blythe followed the direction of Scarlet's sight. The Channel Four News Station stood as one of the largest and mightiest skyscrapers in Downtown City, a large number four on its face and the antenna spike on the roof stood a third the height of the building itself. "If I ever wanted to stop travelling and open up my own base of operations," Scarlet continued, "I'd want something like that."

Without taking her eyes off the building, Blythe replied, "I'd take it you'd like a headquarters like that just because it'd look cool, am I right?"

Scarlet nodded. "Pretty much." She took another sip from her cup, a latte, the streets below echoed briefly with a passing police siren. Then she said, "Hey, listen, if it's not too much trouble, can I propose another time for us to meet?"

"As long it's not between nine and three-thirty from Monday to Friday, then it'll be fine."

"Good, because it starts a couple of days from now at half-four, There'll be a live activist debate taking place at the park, which will be watched by millions of people on TV," the businesswoman explained. "I have a pass to attend the debate, but I'd like to get VIP passes so that both you and the pets from the shop to attend as well."

Blythe took another sip. "For any particular reason?"

"There's this guy, Edward Owens, who'll be giving his speech on that day." There existed a dollop of disgust in the sound of Scarlet's voice.

Sheila spoke quietly from beneath the table, looking up from her doggie bowl. "He's a greedy, selfish human who hates animals, despises them, wants them run out of the city."

Blythe squinted her eyes at the dog. "Ooo-kay…?" she said, uncertain. "I'm sure he's not as bad as you're making him out to be…"

Scarlet leaned forward, emphasising her next words. "Sheila isn't exaggerating… Mr Owens thinks that charities for animals are a waste of time, money, and effort. He represents a people charity just so he can pocket most of the money for himself."

"And why do you want me and the pets to be there?"

"I'd just like all of you to see what I do for a living, and know what I have to go up against on a regular basis in my line of work. You could learn a thing or two."

Blythe contemplated this with another mouthful of liquid cocoa. "I might have to get the owners' permission, but I'm pretty sure they wouldn't mind. Plus, I think the pets might want to get to know you better too." Her head slanted to the side. "But can you really get VIP passes for them?"

"Absolutely," Scarlet said, "and they guarantee all access no matter who's wearing them, human or otherwise."

"Okay then. The park. Tuesday. Half-past-four in the afternoon. We'll be there."

"That's wonderful," Scarlet said before lifting her foamy cup.

Before the brim could reach her lips, her phone vibrated for the third time that day.


	7. Chapter 6: The Monday Mystery

**Hello, folks. First off, I'd like to deeply apologise for the delay. Three months is too long a time to wait. My interest to write the next chapters really fell away, and I've been struggling to find the time to write over my other responsibilities and hobbies. However, I will try and get the next chapters up more frequently from now on. One way or another, this story will get finished** **.**

 **Now, on to the story.**

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

 **The Monday Mystery**

Downtown City groaned with its car horns, worn clutches, and rusty brake pads at the dawn of the dreaded Monday – that one unpopular day that signified the beginning of another dreary week. For many, they had just woken up from a heavy Sunday, only to be thrusted back into the monotony, with heavy eyelids and slumped shoulders and throbbing skulls.

As detested Monday mornings were to the majority, believe it or not, there were those who dwelled in the minority, and one of those happened to be Russell Ferguson. His love for that particular day stemmed from one personal activity: his weekly bathing. The warm, bubbly water reached up to his chin, soaking his orange fur and quills. Using a miniature sponge – crafted to fit his specific size – he rubbed soapy water on his body, around his face, under the arms, and behind the ears, all while humming to himself. Blythe sat at the bath side, always having enough time on the Monday mornings to give the European Hedgehog his regular scrubbing.

Blythe's style for the day seemed appropriate for the task at hand. Her hair was tied into a bun with the front parted to keep it short and manageable. She wore a jacket and shirt with the sleeves rolled up, complete with jeans and boots.

Blythe reached to the bath side and grabbed a yellow toothbrush, fresh out of the blister pack. Despite their name, they had much more uses than for just brushing teeth. "Okay, Russell," she said, "let's not forget to wash around the quills."

Gently, Blythe scooped the dripping Russell up in one hand, then scrubbed the bristles through the spikes on his back.

Russell snickered with every stroke of the brush. "That tickles…" he whispered between fits.

While she brushed, Blythe recalled a question she had been meaning to ask. "By the way, Russell, when you entered the shop, I noticed the pile of papers you had with you." She whisked the bristles through the orange quills, coaxing another delighted chuckle out of Russell. Blythe glanced through the viewing glass and saw the said pile lying unattended on the bench. "Anything I should know about?"

Russell collected himself just enough to deliver a straight answer. "It's a hypothesis…" He stopped to giggle some more. "To determine a rough estimate as to…" Giggle. "How many others can talk to animals, which…" Stopped. Laughed. Continued. "I've been working on since we met Scarlet."

"Alright then. Just as long as it's a hypothesis." Blythe set the hedgehog down on a towel. Russell took a second towel that lay beside and started to dry himself down. "There you go, clean as a whistle," Blythe complimented. The sound of a car horn directed her eyes to the front window. There was her father in the car, waiting. She reached down and grabbed her schoolbag, which had been lying beside the basin. "Oh, gotta run. You okay drying yourself?"

Russell rubbed his face with the towel. "No problem, Blythe."

"Good. I'll see you guys later." Blythe turned and headed for the exit. "Goodbye."

The hedgehog took another couple of minute drying himself, rubbing the towel all over, getting every nook and cranny as dry as a bone. While he was doing that, he could not help but notice Mrs Twombly who stood behind the counter as usual. The shop owner held open in her hands a fresh copy of today's newspaper, and scanned the segments with her spectacles and a sour look upon her face.

Russell could just barely make out her mumbling through his soap-filled ears: "The Flower in the Valley stolen? Who'd want to do such a thing?"

The Flower in the Valley? Russell had never heard of it. That must have been one important flower to be the only one to grow in this particular valley, wherever it was. Nevada, maybe? Russell shrugged it off and continued to dry himself. When he was done, he made his leisurely way over to the day camp area. Already, he felt like a new hedgehog and nothing could ever bring him down.

Russell pushed open the door flap only to be greeted with a chorus of groans, not an uncommon feeling on a Monday morning. The remaining of the regulars sat around the television, which showcased a man in a suit standing before an overview map of the United States. Faint white lines signified state boarders and orange numbers represented temperatures. Perhaps Russell had spoken too soon?

"Hey," Russell began to speak, "what seems to be the hub…" His words grinded to a halt as the weatherman's voice became more prevalent over his own.

"—Rainfall can be expected within the next few days." The man on the news spoke before the tell-tale five day forecast appeared, which only got cloudier and rainier the more they progressed from left to right across the LCD screen. "Especially if you're in the Metropolis area, so get those umbrellas ready, folks."

Upon hearing this, Russell added his belated groan to the choir. He had spoken too soon and now his mood was in sync with the rest of the world. "Just great," he muttered in a sarcastic manner. "Not even the summer can save us from rain. We'll be cooped up in the pet shop for days."

"This'll be lousy for all of us," Pepper said before shifting her gaze to a particular mongoose. "Well, almost all of us…"

"Let's not get into that again," Sunil replied, waving her off. He then gestured a humanlike thumb toward Minka. "I'd be more fretful about our primate's natural trepidation, brought about by prolonged exposure to enclosed areas of space."

Minka snapped, "I do not have a…!" Then paused, her mouth wide open in protest. After a moment, she managed to get out, "Whatever you just said."

While they argued, the news continued. The scene had switched back to the anchor-woman behind the white, glass plated desk, who rattled off some miscellaneous bulletins from yesterday and today, including the launch of a smartphone that was more superior than its predecessor (somehow), a celebrity adopting a third-world orphan (for some reason), and a triathlon taking place in Downtown City later that day, complete with interviews, ranging from the professional runners to the everyman charity joggers.

Suddenly, a familiar voice rang out from behind them. "Ladies! Gents!" Everyone turned in the direction of the voice, toward the entrance, where they found Sheila Robertson. The Gatsby hat had grown on her. "Can you at least make it to the weekend before starting a riot here in the shop?"

The tension in the room, brought about by the impending fear of falling water drops, vanished in the wake of the new arrival and their new friend, like a pet shop rendition to the ending of _Lord of the Flies._ Suddenly, they had forgotten what they were even arguing about.

Russell, both with his fresh appearance and attitude, was the first to approach the Bichon Frise. "Welcome back to the day camp, Sheila," he spoke in a welcoming tone. "Glad to see you've returned for another day."

"Another day?" Sheila repeated. "You mean you don't get other regulars around here?"

"Nope," Russell began to answer. "It's just us seven. Most pets are only here for a day – two if they're lucky – before moving on to other places." His head perked up as Mrs Twombly appeared at the door, a pet carrier in her hand. "Speaking of which."

All eyes were on the silver-haired lady was she pushed the door open and lugged both her slim frame and bulky cage through the gap. She took a few steps into the room on her high-heels before setting the carrier down.

"Here we are, sweeties. We have a new camper with us today," Anna Twombly announced as she unhooked the latch and swung the grating open. "I'd like everyone to meet Wallace the Weasel."

Slowly, the mammal of the Mustelidae family emerged. Wallace had an oval head atop a long, slender body complete with a thin tail, and walked upright on his hind legs. His fur was a hot-rod red with a white belly. He scanned the faces before him with green eyes – so bright that they almost appeared golden. From afar, you'd be understandable for thinking that he looked like Sunil after an accident involving a can of red paint. Wallace looked around like he was seeing the universe for the first time.

Mrs Twombly stood up, carrying the now empty pet carrier with her. "Play nice now. And Wallace, don't be such a weasel now," she said before chuckling. "I crack myself up sometimes." Then she turned around and made her exit, leaving the pets and their new associate alone.

Wallace shot a gaze back at Twombly. "Oh, yeah, like I haven't heard that one before," he said sarcastically.

The other pets walked over to the weasel, eager to get a glimpse of the newbie. Wallace glanced at all of them, his golden eyes hovered over Sheila.

"Oh, it's…" Wallace began, but appeared to trail off. His mouth remained open, showing off his prominent two front teeth. His eyes remained locked on the white dog for many seconds, the two of them engaged in a staring contest battle, before he ended it and redirected them to the surrounding walls and high ceiling of the building. "…It's… such a nice place you got here. High ceilings and everything!"

Thanks to the wonderful world of popular culture, the entire world had now locked itself in an eternal state where they believed that a weasel would act like, well, a weasel. This was most prevalent in cartoons where the weasel was always the shady one, the cheapskate, the one with the dark and terrifying secret, the one who cannot be trusted, who would attempt to peddle you worthless junk from beneath a trench coat. This would almost always be followed with the classic line, "You're such a weasel." Whereupon the said weasel would respond, "Oh, thank you."

However, this was no animated cartoon, so it was hardly true. Weasels, just like any other human or animal, were as varied in personalities and behaviours.

Wallace continued, "I'd introduce myself, but that lady did it all for me." While he talked, he sounded like a bundle of shook-up nerves buried under a thin layer of confidence. "So… yeah. I'm Wallace. Nice place you got here."

"Hi, Wallace," the pets greeted in near-perfect unison.

Sheila said, "I can understand if you're feeling nervous. This is only my second day here, so I'm pretty new myself."

Wallace glanced sidewards at Sheila. "That doesn't surprise me…" He went to turn away, only to swing back with wide eyes. "I mean – you had that look about you, you know?" He spoke rapidly, frantically. "Yeah, that's what I meant. You don't appear to be as the same grain as these friendly pets."

In his stupor, Wallace failed to notice Pepper approaching on his blind left. The grey skunk smiled in a casual manner, avoiding any smugness. She hoped that some of her Pepper-branded, light-hearted humour will mellow him down a few notches.

"Hey, relax, will ya?" Pepper said, almost making the weasel jump out of his fur. She placed a paw on his shoulder. "Let your fur down. Nobody's gonna bite."

A smile crept beneath the weasel's whiskers. What started to him as an awkward touch slowly became gentle, and he found it in himself to accept it as a friendly gesture. "Oh, yeah, right." He rubbed his paws together. "So… what's there to do around here?"

Pepper, at that point, took it upon herself to be the alpha. "Plenty. Let me show you around." She eased off Wallace's shoulder and strolled leisurely across the room. As expected, Wallace followed.

As they went across the room, the rest of the pets also followed. Russell was about to take his first step when he was held back by a burly but gentle grip on his shoulder. Russell looked over to see Penny Ling, holding him with her panda paw.

Penny Ling leaned down, close to Russell's ear. "Hey, Russell," she whispered.

"Huh?" Russell said, caught off guard. "What?"

"Don't you think Wallace is acting a little… strange?"

Russell glanced back at the weasel. All of them were exchanging small talk, and Wallace was giggling profusely, maybe more than anyone would. "He's just new to the day camp," Russell replied with a shrug, "Just plain nervousness if you ask me. I wouldn't worry about it."

Penny continued to murmur in the hedgehog's ear. "But he's acting very odd toward Sheila." Her gaze narrowed on both the fluffy dog and the red weasel. "Almost as if… he knows her…"

Russell shrugged again. "The odds of that are pretty out in the sticks." His head raised as he remembered something. "Speaking of which…" He shots his gaze back across the opposite side of the day camp. His notes remain exactly where he put them, on the bench, untouched, unnoticed, undisturbed. "My hypothesis. I should get back on that right away, if you'll excuse me..."

While Russell slipped from the bear paw and scurried off to his ink and paper, Penny Ling remained rooted to the spot. She watched the hedgehog for a fleeting moment before directing her gaze to the nervous Wallace surrounded by all her friends; already Zoe was preparing to sing ' _Dance like you know you can'_ , her favourite song.

Penny Ling felt her gaze lock on Wallace. She would not let him leave her sight for one second.

* * *

Aside from the shaky start, everything continued without a hitch. Everyone, with the exception of both Russell and Penny Ling, introduced the newcomer to their array of unique talents. Vinnie showed off his dancing skills mixed with the usual tripping over one's tail routine, and Sunil the Great had another crack at the good old-fashioned switcheroo trick, this time using an unenthusiastic Minka to be his volunteer. The result was what was to be expected; Minka somehow winded up on the building's roof.

The cautious panda, all the while, remained far back, keeping to herself while nursing a stick of bamboo. Her eyes remained locked on Wallace at all times. It was clear that the weasel did not want to be there, he kept glancing over at the clock positioned above the day-camp entrance every five minutes. Was there a show on TV that he really wanted to catch, or did he just want the day to end?

Pepper was in the middle of her comedy routine, making another of her endless rubber chicken jokes, when all of a sudden a tremendous crash followed by a cry came from the opposite corner of the room. All eyes shot across to see that one of the pet feeders had sprung a leak, sending a steady stream of pet kibble spraying onto the carpet.

Sheila stood nearby the disaster. "Oh no," she said after having calmed her breath from the initial shock. "We've got a small problem here…"

All the pets rushed over to the commotion, huddling around to get a view of the tasty mess.

Penny Ling watched from afar as all they did was stop and stare. Russell, still over beside his whiteboard and ink-dotted papers, merely turned back to his workings. Usually, he would be the first one on the scene to make sure that the day-camp was one-hundred-percent accident-free, but he was sure that it could do without him for just one day, or maybe even the day after that.

Just then, Penny Ling counted the number of gawkers and realised something horrible.

She had taken her eyes off Wallace.

She swung back to where Wallace last stood, and found his space empty. Furiously, Penny Ling scanned every corner of the room and caught the wisps of a red tail as it darted out the door flap, leaving it to wave on its own volition. Wallace was making an escape whilst everyone was distracted.

"Where's he going?" Penny Ling whispered to herself before shoving the last piece of bamboo into her greedy gob.

She then got to her feet and went to make chase, but realised that she may need some backup on this one. Turning back to the crowd, he quickly rushed toward them and grabbed the pair of tails closest to her: Vinnie's and Minka's. Penny Ling rushed straight through the exit flap and down the shop, with both pets crying as they were dragged across the floor.

"Not my tail," Vinnie screamed. "Not my tail! You're gonna pull it off!"

Minka hollered, "Hey, that's a sensitive area! Let go of that!"

The giant, violet panda tried to speak, but only an incoherent mumble escaped from her mouth thanks to the hefty piece of bamboo. She munched away at it with increased rigor.

The three of them slid through the flap that led them outside. Thankfully, Mrs Twombly was too engrossed in her newspaper to notice the gecko and spider monkey being dragged across the floor by an undersized giant panda.

In the wide open expanse of the street, Penny Ling shot her gaze to the left. Nothing. She turned to the opposite way, and there was the red weasel, slinking down the sidewalk, using the terrain – lampposts, benches, and trashcans – as cover.

Both Vinnie and Minka glared up with angry eyes at Penny Ling. "What's the big idea?" Vinnie asked, his arms folded.

Penny Ling released her hold on the tails, only to grab their heads and turn them in the direction of the fleeing pet. Her bear fingers ruffled their heads of hair. "There," she said after finally swallowing the bamboo down her oesophagus. "Look!"

"Huh?" Minka murmured as both she and Vinnie witnessed the latest visitor to Littlest Pet Shop slithering down the street. "Wallace? Where's he off to?"

Vinnie shot upright, then called out, "Hey, Wallace!" His shout made the weasel halt and glance back. "Where're you going? The pet shop's this way!"

From that distance, Wallace appeared to bare his teeth and mutter something under his breath. He then turned back and continued down the warm path, his movements fast and nimble.

Vinnie turned back to the others. "What's gotten into him?"

"Beats me." Penny Ling took off down the sidewalk, after Wallace. "But I'm going to find out."

"Wait for us," Minka called before both she and Vinnie followed the panda, and the three gave chase to the escaping pet.

They had no idea what Wallace was up to, but they only hoped that they could return to the pet shop before Mrs Twombly noticed they were gone. Snack time was only a couple of hours away.

* * *

"You met what?" Youngmee Song muttered with surprise.

"Another who can talk to pets, just like me," Blythe answered, confident that her words could not be heard while both she and Youngmee stood in a barren hall corner. Finding an empty space in the crowded school was a rarity, but the two best friends were fortunate enough to stumble upon one during the lunch break. Blythe had been itching to break the news to Youngmee – the only person who knew of her secret, now out of two people – determined to tell her on the first safe opportunity she got, and now that time had presented itself there and then. "I know it sounds crazy, but it's true."

"Well, that explains why the pets were acting all crazy on Saturday," Youngmee contemplated as she recalled what happened two days ago. "I never told you about that, did I? I was in sweet delights when the pets rushed into the kitchen, and then just rushed out again. It was like they were possessed or something."

Blythe chuckled as she leaned her back against someone's locker. The steel cool and chalky against her jacket. "Yep. That sounds like the pets alright…"

"But another just like you? That's unbelievable. What's this person like?"

Blythe Baxter turned her blue eyes to the ceiling. "She's a huge celebrity – been doing this for way longer than I have. She makes pet products, fine-tuning them thanks to knowing exactly what the pets want."

Youngmee looked up and down to hall to make sure nobody was present. The coast was still clear. She continued. "Sounds like things have really worked out for her." She turned to the semi-clean, tiled floor. A lone, candy bar wrapper lay wedged in the crevice between the wall and the floor. "Gee, seems like everyone and their dog is talking to pets right now. I really wish I could do that…"

Blythe reached over and placed a gentle hand on Youngmee's shoulder. "Trust me when I say this, Youngmee, having this ain't a walk in the park."

"I know, but…" Suddenly, Youngmee's eyes switched from Blythe to down the corridor as a small entourage of students flooded down the hall, among them were the two remaining friends of their little group: Jasper and Sue. She whispered quickly into Blythe's ear, "We'll talk about this another time."

"Hey," Jasper spoke first, "What'cha talking about?"

"Oh, nothing," Youngmee said. "Just how our weekends have been."

"Well, you two better get ready pronto," said Sue, "because we've got Biology in five minutes."

Jasper glanced up at the ceiling. "Because, you know, you'll never get anywhere in life if you don't know the difference between a basic and an acidic."

As the four proceeded down the hall, laughing along the way, who did Blythe happen to pass on her way to her locker? Why, none other than Josh Sharp, of course. Just the sheer sight of him, with those handsome, green eyes – the scar beneath the left one – and his brown locks, and that endearing smile, sent the teenager girl's heart soaring. He was dressed in that trendy, red letterman jacket and beanie hat that suited him so well.

Blythe swallowed down the urge to laugh in a goofy manner. As the two passed, they shared a quick, casual greeting. Blythe, deep down inside, knew that Josh deserved more than just a 'Hey, how's it going', she still wanted to thank him for helping out at Pet Fest, for helping her rekindle her inspiration, and for generally being the sweetest guy she had ever met.

One day, Blythe would openly confess her feelings for Josh, but for now, Biology in 205 awaited.

Blythe stared down the stretch of hallway. Past the flock of students and their mop hair stood her locker, positioned in the centre of a row. Even from that distance, she detected something wrong. Something felt out of place, and it all had to do with her locker. The problem revealed itself as she neared and found the grey, metal door slightly ajar.

"What the huh?" Blythe whispered.

She went to grab the handle on her locker door, but suddenly acted against it. This was high school, and knowing high school, there was no telling what kind of insidious prank awaited on the other side of a tampered door.

"Hey, guys," Blythe said to the others, "did any of you see me forget to properly shut this today?"

Jasper squinted his right eye and scratched the back of his head. "Umm… no, I don't think so."

"When was the last time you opened it?" asked Sue, showing concern.

"First break," answered Blythe. "And I'm pretty sure I didn't forget to close it then. I never forget to close my locker."

Youngmee, suddenly detecting a threat in the immediate area, pulled Blythe away from her locker, then ushered the others back. "Watch out, it could be a trap," she warned. "There's no telling what will happen when you open that door."

Blythe gentle brushed out of Youngmee's grasp and slowly, cautiously, approached the steel compartment. She wondered who could have been out to get her. Nobody in the school held anything against her, except for the Biskit Twins, of course, but it was not their style to pull senseless pranks on her – let alone have the aptitude to pick the lock.

"Be careful, Blythe," Youngmee whispered, as if the sound of her own voice would trigger the trap mechanism.

Blythe Baxter reached out and wrapped the tips of her fingers behind the latch. Mustering up the courage, she pulled back and used the door as a shield. Any student would have expected a burst of flour, or the stench of rotten eggs, or the embarrassing sound of escaping wind, but nothing happened. The four held back, weary that this devious trick could be timed. They waited for seconds, but still nothing. Blythe edged around the door and risked a peek, treating her own locker like a corner in a haunted house movie. Inside lay everything exactly how it was, nothing stolen or tampered with, or even moved.

Blythe exhaled in relief. "False alarm. Everything's fine," she announced, making them exhale too.

"Boy… that's a relief," Youngmee said while wiping sweat from her brow.

"Yeah, but this brings up an important question…" Blythe turned back to her locker. "If I didn't leave this open, then how did it get open?"

Jasper suggested, "Maybe it didn't lock properly? That's happened to me a few times."

Nevertheless, Blythe reached in a retrieved her Biology textbook along with the book for the class after that one: English Literature. She focused with everything she had to concentrate and remember her next action. She slammed her locker shut, then pulled back, testing the lock. As she suspected, the locker remained shut. Right on cue, the bell rang, signifying the end of lunch and the beginning on the next session.

Youngmee, Jasper, and Sue walked down the hall. Blythe was about to join them when something stopped her in her tracks. The debacle over her locker had still not passed, something continued to nag away at the brain in her oversized skull. Something in her peripheral vision as she moved toward her locker – a pair of eyes among the dozens that inhibited the hall. However, these eyes were different, and they only seemed to stare at one thing and one thing alone: her.

She looked around nervously to where she had thought she had seen them - in a window positioned above the row of lockers. There, behind the pane of murky glass and security bars, stood perched a bird with midnight black feathers. A crow. Those were the eyes, those cold blue eyes, which traced her every movement. The black bird continued to gaze upon Blythe for a few seconds longer before craning its head, pecking something out from under its wing, then fluttering away, disappearing in a flash.

"Blythe?" Youngmee called from across the hall, snapping Blythe out of her absorbed state. "Aren't you coming?"

* * *

Penny Ling, Minka, and Vinnie panted and wheezed as they struggled to remain hot on Wallace's tail. The weasel was quick and nimble, and showed no signs of stopping as he slinked through the streets, avoiding the soles of passing pedestrians and the cars on the roads.

Wallace had made some risky moves such as darting across crossings, through congested traffic, and even once hitched a ride on the bumper of a fire engine to make some headway. Good thing the taxi the pets had managed to cling to went his way. The pets in pursuit could not help but realise that the streets were becoming more clogged with people and parked cars. Wallace's natural prowess, being a weasel and everything, gave him the edge when traversing the hostile terrain better known as the city streets.

The pets struggled to keep up. Sure, Minka was athletic and Vinnie had his sticky digits, but the two of them needed to slow down for Penny Ling, who wasn't built for long-distance running. Little did they know, however, that where they were going, there was going to be plenty more running. They were approaching the starting area of Downtown City's Annual Marathon.


	8. Chapter 7: Marathon Madness

**Chapter 7**

 **Marathon Madness**

They had made it. Penny Ling, Vinnie, and Minka had reached Downtown City Plaza. It was here where the crowd was at its thickest. They gazed over the cobble road, through the bars of the temporary steel fence, at the sight of the thousands upon thousands of humans who flocked to the wide open space.

Downtown City Plaza stood close to the centre of the city and was surrounded by retail stores, restaurants and cafeterias. In the centre stood the fountain, which the occasional tourist will toss a penny into and make a wish – probably for a million times the amount that they had just thrown away carelessly.

A banner stood high above the crowds, waving in the gentle breeze.

 **Downtown City's 74** **th** **Annual Marathon.**

Penny Ling struggled to catch her breath. "More running?" she exclaimed, "You have got to be kidding me."

On the opposite pavement, they could just make out Wallace the weasel as he charged fearlessly into the fray of hairy legs, running tights, and sweat soaked sneakers. Thank goodness nobody in this crazy world seemed to possess peripheral vision, otherwise he and they would have been caught from the moment they exited Littlest Pet Shop. Wallace dove into the jungle and disappeared.

"I might not be an expert on these types of marathons," Vinnie said correctly. The only marathons he knew existed on the horror channel, which he endured alongside Sunil. "But something tells me they don't allow pets to compete."

Although not a straight-to-television horror B-movie, the marathon and the prospect of more running was an equally terrifying thought to Penny Ling. She squinted at the crowd, but could not make out Wallace anywhere. She had a sudden change of heart. "You know, maybe we should head back to the shop – I'm sure he can take care of himself."

Minka grabbed Penny's arm before she could slink away. "Hold it, sister," she said, "are you saying we should just give up?" She only gave Penny Ling time to mumble. "I didn't do all that running and jumping and climbing and clawing just to give up now." She looked Penny Ling deep in her eyes. "Did you come all this way just to give up, Penny Ling?"

Penny Ling murmured again. Their faces were an inch apart. "This is a little too close for comfort… and I'm pretty sure we aren't sisters…"

"I didn't think so," Minka continued, suddenly letting go. Penny Ling lost her balance and hit the floor. Minka stood up straight and shot her primate fist into the air. "We are pets! And we were not born and raised to give up without a fight! In fact—"

Vinnie tapped Minka on the shoulder. "Uh, Minka," he said, "as fascinating as your little speech is, it doesn't change the fact that Wallace is getting away."

Minka suddenly snapped around. "What are we standing around for anyway? Come on, let's go!"

With that, the pink monkey slipped under the fence, over the cobblestone, and into the fray. Penny Ling sighed dejectedly and then both she and Vinnie followed.

There were people of varying degrees of fitness; some looked like they did these events just for fun, others favoured hard weights as opposed to hard tarmac, and there were those who just struggled standing upright. But among all of them, they existed only one weasel, and the pets were determined to find him.

* * *

"Stars, hide your fires," Professor Hamill spoke to his class, "Let not light see my black and deep desires."

There were a total of sixteen students in Professor Hammil's English Literature class, four rows of four desks. Blythe observed the professor's hammy acting from her desk in the back left corner of the room, behind Youngmee, next to Sue, and diagonally from Jasper. The Biskit Twins sat at the opposite corner with Whittany at the front and Brittany at the desk behind. Those two were more interested in the writing on their phones than the words on their books, finding leetspeak easier to understand than Shakespeare's Early Modern English.

Hamill resumed, taking small steps down the front of the class. "These are the words spoken by Macbeth. Loyal general; valiant soldier; noble hero." He turned to walk back in the opposite direction. He lowered his voice an octave. "King slayer; fearful betrayer; tragic villain... lost soul. Doomed." He spins to face his students. "You see, Macbeth didn't just stumble, he didn't just fall to the dark side either – he plummeted into the deepest, darkest pit from which there was no return. He tossed away everything that he stood for, and in doing so, lost himself to madness. But what led him, a man who had spent the most of his life on the straight and narrow, to commit such atrocities?"

He paused as his question echoed on the drums of the students present. Three seconds passed. They all had a firm idea about the answer, everyone except two of them anyway, but they all remained silent. The mentality being to let somebody else explain it.

The professor smiled and sat atop his desk, scanning the expanse with his grizzled eyes. "Is anyone going to make a suggestion or am I going to have to pick someone at random?" He looked at the twins who weren't looking back. "Whittany and Brittany?" he asked. The twins' heads shot up simultaneously. "Do you even know what I just asked?"

"Err…" Whittany mumbled.

"I didn't think so," Hamill interrupted, his grin withstanding. "Maybe if you listened more often, you'd one day be able to write something with one-hundred-and-forty characters that someone would actually want to read." He got a chuckle out of the class.

Whittany would not accept defeat so easily. She groaned a sigh, then responded, "What's the point to all of this Shake-spear stuff anyway?"

Brittany Biskit added, "It's not like, like, this junk is going to be of any use to us. Can you buy designer clothes with Big Mac questions?"

"They didn't have teevee or cell phones or the internet back then," Whittany said, "so how is learning about the past supposed to help us now?"

Hamill raised an index finger in revelation. "Ah! There's an old saying that I'm particularly fond of: 'Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.' Obviously, you haven't learned this considering I'm still catching you twiddling on your phones, ladies." Another giggle from the remaining students filled the room. Professor Hamill stepped closer to the centre. He scanned the faces of each teenager and the names attached to them, and picked out one unlucky soul from the crowd. "Jasper Jones." He pointed to the boy in the orange, hooded sweater, sat three rows back and second from the left. "Why don't you indulge us?"

Jasper froze at the prospect of suddenly being called out. If only he had covered the book as much as he had covered his videogames. It felt like all eyes were on him. Jasper swallowed hard, then began, "So… he could become king?"

"Yes, but what drove him into becoming king? There was already an adept king on the throne who Macbeth respected greatly, so why did he turn on his king from out of the blue?"

Jasper grabbed his copy of that Scottish play and fruitlessly flicked through the pages. "Wasn't it because the witches had told him to do it?"

Hamill's grin turned upside-down. "A fair assumption. Close, but incorrect," he said. "While the witches were the ones who told Macbeth that he'd become King of Scotland, it was Macbeth's wife who coerced her husband into killing King Duncan. Make no mistake. Macbeth was prophesised to overthrow the king, it was his destiny, but something else tempted him, guided his hand and the dagger clutched in his fingers."

Hamill began to weave slowly through the desks, almost acting as sneaky as that Scottish character on that deadly night. "In this day and age, we're bombarded with predictions, whether it be the daily horoscope, the local weather or whether so-and-so will remain the lead singer in your favourite band. Most people nowadays who're told that they'll become the next President of the United States brush it off as a wild nonsense simply because of how ludicrous the thought sounds."

"Macbeth started out the same, pinning the predictions down as the ramblings of three mad, old women. But over time, as the first prediction rang true and he became the Thane of Cawdor, the fantasy slowly graduated into a reality. The king was right on his doorstep and all he needed to seize the crown was a frame job – but still, something else deeper urged him to commit regicide. Do I have any suggestions as to what that was?" He paused.

After a brief moment of silence, the suggestions began to flood in. "Greed?" One student said.

"Jealousy?" Another threw out there.

"Hate?" A third suggested.

Blythe decided to toss out a thought lingering in her head. "Desire?"

Professor Hamill span to face Blythe Baxter. "You said desire, which is pretty close. And desire is a subset of…?"

"Ambition," Blythe answered with a smile, without giving it a second thought.

"Thank you, Blythe Baxter. That's the word I was looking for." Hamill treaded back to the front of the class. "Ambition was what drove Macbeth to commit such a heinous crime. His desire to become more than what he once thought was unobtainable always existed deep within Macbeth's heart, long before he ever became a thane or a general or even a soldier. The Witches' prophecy and his wife's persuasion merely gave his ambition a footing in which to manifest itself from a playful dream into a fully-fledged possibility."

Blythe pictured the characters – Macbeth: grizzled and strong; Duncan: proud and wise; Lady Macbeth: manipulative and divisive – and for some strange reason, imagined the pets in the roles. It made a bit of sense, self-insert daydreaming was the pets' modus operandi after all. She wondered how that would turn out…

* * *

Far off yonder, across the hilly meadows of Scotland – the land of haggis and bagpipes – a high hedgehog rode upon his steed. He galloped through the iron gates of a castle and came to a halt in the dirt courtyard. King Russell Ferguscan, decked in a golden crown and fur cape, descended from his stallion. He was promptly greeted by a tunic-wearing, bearded Minka.

"King Ferguscan, I am humbled by thy presence," Minka said in the best Scottish accent she could muster, which was still shoddy, to say the least.

King Ferguscan smiled. "Ah, Minkbeth, my loyal general," he said. His voice was posh and refined like those heard in the Duchess of Lancashire Lane. "I thank ye for providing a bed for the night. I am verily drained from all that galloping across yonder."

Minkbeth pointed to a nearby stone staircase. "Second floor, third door on the right. Whatever you do, don't take the second door on the left or you'll be failing forever down the bottomless pit." She shrugged. "All Scottish castles have them for some reason – it's just a must-have feature."

Ferguscan responded, "Most excellent." He then stretched his arms and yawned. "Now, it is time for me to retire. I wish ye a good night, Minkbeth."

"Aye, my liege," Minka said while Russell Ferguscan made his way to the steps. "I'm sure there's absolutely no chance that while you sleep with very little protection, someone – not likely but almost probably me – will sneak into your quarters and snub you out in order to seize the crown for themselves."

Russell Ferguscan froze, snapped upright, and then span around. "What?"

Minkbeth started to rapidly walk away. "I said sweet dreams, your majesty."

Minkbeth darted on all fours across the courtyard and straight through a thick, wooden door. Inside lay a warm fire, a decorative shield over the mantle, a sleeping bear that was supposed to be the rug, a table and chairs, and Minkbeth's angry wife – portrayed by Sunil. As always, he looked terrible in lilac.

Sunil, who played Lady Minkbeth, flipped back a few strands of his blonde wig. "Minkbeth," he spoke in a feminine accent, "you call yourself a real monkey, yet you do not truly deserve my love."

Surprised, Minkbeth gasped. "My loving spouse, that is not true!" she pleaded. "I love you more than life itself, Lady Minkbeth… even if I don't know your first name…"

Suddenly, from the lone window, a gecko dressed in a green tunic and hat swung in on a vine. He landed on the circular table, knocking over a potted plant. His entrance was accompanied by the triumphant sound of strings and trumpets.

"Fear not! For I, Vinnie Hood, am here to save the day," he shouted jubilantly. "Evil and corruption shalt not stand against the—"

Sunil broke character, speaking in his normal voice. "Vinnie! This is Scotland, not Nottingham!"

Vinnie Hood stood there for seconds, dumbstruck. "Oh… whoops. I always get mixed up with my medieval fantasies." He grabbed the same vine and used it to swing out of the room. "Vinnie Hood, away!" He smashed through the stone wall, leaving a gecko-shaped hole. "…I'm okay…" Vinnie's pained voice could be heard from a distance.

The mongoose in the dress and wig rolled his eyes. "Anyway…" He coughed, bringing back the ladylike tone in his voice. "If you truly love me, you must become more that you are." Lady Minkbeth narrowed his golden gaze. "You know what to do."

Outside the castle, the sun goes down and the moon comes up in the blink of an eye. The chirping birds were replaced by chirping crickets and the distant howl of a big, bad wolf.

Deep within the castle's catacombs, Minkbeth's shadow slinked across the candlelit walls. She moved with the lightness of an apparition; a spider ready for the kill. The door to King Ferguscan's quarters creaked open, and there lay the hedgehog, nestled under a thick blanket. The shadowy figure approached and raised an arm with a long, curved object gripped in the hand. The hand shook in a clear moment of hesitation, then came down hard.

King Ferguscan awakened with a horrific shriek. Ruthlessly, the weapon drove down onto him, again and again, without end. Ferguscan crumpled, rolled under his sheets and out of bed as a sticky substance began to smear his body. Then through dimming eyes, he looks up at his murderer and spotted Minkbeth holding a mushed banana in her hand.

Russell looked down at his orange body, now caked with yellow mush. "Minkbeth?" he cried in a mixture of shock and anger. "What are you doing?"

Minkbeth held out her hands in front of her defensively. "Whoa whoa whoa, this isn't my fault!" she protested. "A group of witches said I would do it!"

Ferguscan screamed, "A group of—!" Then, he fainted.

Meanwhile, far, far away, in the cobweb-infested cavern of mildew and cryptic carvings, three witches – Pepper, Zoe, and Penny Ling – cackled around a cauldron. They were the typical kind of witches, dressed in pointy hats and dark robes. Penny Ling dipped a wooden spoon into the green mixture and stirred a few times. When she went to remove the spoon, only the handle remained.

"Double, double, toil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble," they sang, dark, sinister, and wicked.

Suddenly, Zoe went solo: "Bubble bubble, sweet cauldron bubble, oh, yeah! Sweet, sweet—" Penny Ling slapped Zoe in the back of the head. Her singing ended with a disgruntled choke. "Well, excuse me for trying to add a little spice to our routine."

The cauldron exploded in a cloud of smoke. When it cleared, the three furry witches gazed down at the bubbling concoction and saw a human figure materialise.

The man in the water said, "Tonight's ye old lottery numbers are six, eleven, twelve, sixteen, and twenty two."

Upon hearing the numbers, the witches groaned with disappointment.

"Aww man, I was so close," Pepper complained. "I had five, ten, thirteen, fifteen, and twenty one."

* * *

"Wow…" Blythe whispered to herself. "That was weird."

Judging by the professor's rambling, Blythe had not missed much. She looked up at the clock that hung over the smothered whiteboard. Apparently, she had snapped out of her daydream just in time to endure the final minute of English Literature. After that. It was time to head home.

A single hand from the class raised: Youngmee Song's. "Professor Hamill?" she asked, "How do we know that the messages brought up in Macbeth were Shakespeare's original intentions?"

"That's a very good question, Miss Song," Hamill said, "but the truth is, honestly, we don't know. Whatever true intentions and messages that Shakespeare tried to express were his and only his to know. Unfortunately, dear old William bit the big one four-hundred years and has been dead ever since, so his views perished along with him."

He checked his watch. "The bell is about to go soon, so before you go, allow me to condense the message behind Macbeth into only a couple of words." Hamill leaned closer to the class and spoke those words sheer seconds before the final bell rang. "Power corrupts."

* * *

The pets had crossed perilous routes before, whether it be city streets, the sewers, or even the wild. However, nothing could have prepared them for the dangers that awaited them within the plaza. Thousands of people, constantly moving, proved the most hazardous obstacles they had ever faced. Any foot had the potential to step on whatever body part was vulnerable, whether it be a tail, hand, foot, or even the entire body. Vinnie had avoided becoming a green mess on somebody's running shoes several times, and Minka had almost gotten her tail snagged a thousand times over.

The three of them mushed through the crowd, but they were running blind. Perhaps they thought that Wallace would be easy to track within the sanctuary of tight track shorts and sickly, sugary energy drinks.

They emerged from the brush and ended up before a gazebo tent. From their location, they gazed around, but had no luck catching sight of a red furred weasel.

"It's no good…" Penny Ling said with a wheeze, trailing a few steps behind the rest. "I don't see any sign of him." She stretched backwards. The vertebrae in her spine crackled back into their original places. "He must've given us the slip by now."

Vinnie looked up at the tent. "We need to get a better look around. Leave that to me," he insisted. "I bet I can get a good view from up there."

"Great idea. Not like I was about to suggest it," said Minka.

Vinnie approached the fabric and placed his sticky limbs on it. The polyester was not the easiest surface to cling onto, but there was enough stretch to allow him to scale to the top. Minka and Penny Ling watched as their friend scaled the foundation. It was a miracle that they had remained hidden even among the thousands of human eyes.

Vinnie followed the frame all the way to the roof and to the peak in the centre. The gecko looked out from his newfound vantage point. There were thousands all around, huddled in groups. In the distance, he could make out the starting line, and the many who had flocked to it. It appeared that the marathon would start soon.

There were other tents that lined the grassy areas, dedicated to many groups, organisations, and charities. Vinnie found Wallace. One hundred yards away, behind a built event shelter, Wallace had picked a deserted spot in the area.

Vinnie pointed as Wallace climbed up the side and began to do something with the tether. "There," Vinnie shouted, "behind that tent for…" He paused, then squinted on the flag flapping above the tent. "Camel Floss? I knew it existed. Wait until Sunil hears about this."

Without saying another word, Minka and Penny Ling rushed off, using the Camel Floss flag as their guide. They rushed through the crowds as quickly as they could, but the short journey took longer than they had hoped. More people seemed to step nearer them, almost as if it were on purpose. By the time the two had gotten there, Wallace had performed his vanishing act.

Penny Ling snapped her fingers and groaned. "Too late again."

Vinnie appeared behind them, panting and sweating. "Did you guys see him?" he asked as he fixed his green hair.

"No," Penny Ling answered bluntly. "He must've moved on elsewhere…"

Vinnie Terrio looked up at the last place he saw Wallace – on the roof of the events shelter. Wallace had started doing something to one of the orange ropes fastening the canvas and metal to the earth. One of the tethers had been cut, chewed an inch from its fastener. Along the frame, two other ropes had also been cut. What little remained of the rope dangled limply down the tent wall. On the grassy ground, there were three hooks that stuck up from the soil. The other ends of the ropes lay there, also having been chewed down to size.

All of a sudden, Minka pounced on Penny Ling's head. "Over there, look," she shouted as she pointed across the crowd.

Penny Ling and Vinnie twisted around – Minka now faced the opposite direction – and, between two groups of human legs, they saw Wallace. He carried a long length of string over his large head. The three missing tethers, all tied into one long length of rope. He moved fast, toward the stone stairs that surrounded the fountain.

"We'll never catch him at this rate," Penny Ling complained.

Minka propped her head on his elbow, while still on the panda's bonce, and drummed her fingers against her cheek. "Maybe not together," she said, "but if we split up, we'd be able to cover more ground."

"Sounds good. Let's do it," Vinnie said.

Minka jumped off Penny Ling's head. "Alright, Penny, you circle around to the left. Vinnie, you go right. I'll go straight forward. Yell if you find him."

The three of them agreed. Penny Ling and Vinnie took off in their designated directions, disappearing into the fray. Minka Mark went forward, toward the steps. She reached the fountain and peered over the rim. Minka found Wallace, sneaking around the top step. Wallace stopped at the foot of one of the handrail posts and tied the end of the rope around it.

Minka snuck to the bottom step as Wallace slowly trailed the length of rope under the top step.

"I've got you now," Minka whispered as she had Wallace dead in her sights. The weasel was oblivious to her presence.

The speakers, attached to every lamppost in the vicinity, crackled to life with a nail-on-chalkboard screech. "Is – is this thing on? Okay, it's on." The man on the microphone cleared his throat. "All righty people. To all the contestants taking part, please prepare yourselves at the starting line. You only have a few minutes left to warm up, so make sure you're in tip top shape before the starter pistol goes off. Good luck everyone."

Minka froze. Something has seized her. Something deep down in the primal sections of her mind. Two words. Such a simple phrase, but it set off alarm bells like firecrackers in her brain.

"Tip top…" Minka whispered. Her body began to twitch. "Tip top," she said louder. The twitch progressed into an uncontrollable shake. "Tip top!" She leapt up onto the fountain brim. "Tip top! Tip top!" Minka bellowed like crazy as she jumped up and down on the fountain tiers. "Tip top! Tippy top tippy tippy tippy top top top!

All eyes were drawn to the fountain as a pink spider monkey with the pigtails went ballistic. The air was filled with screams as Minka splashed on the platforms, sending water everywhere. The crowd argued amongst themselves, wondering how an untamed animal had gotten into a public place unsupervised. There were some among them suggesting that they call the dog catcher – or whatever you call to catch a wild monkey.

Penny Ling and Vinnie rushed in from both sides, having heard the commotion. "Minka," Penny Ling called out, "listen to my voice! You need to calm down!"

"Get a grip, girl," Vinnie added. "You're making a scene!"

Minka jumped onto the peak of the fountain where the intensity had reached its peak. The spray surrounded her, drenching her to the bone as she howled out one final tip top, then went still. Minka, having finally gotten a grip on herself, looked around and found every human eye staring at her. It was no secret now. Her cover had been blow. She looked around as they stared and pointed. Some of them reached into their pockets, bags, and handbags and retrieving their cell phones. The sound of beeping buttons started to drown out their voices.

"…Uh, oh…" Minka whispered. "Okay, Minka, calm down. What's the worst that can come from this?"

The best case scenario flashed before Minka's eyes. Animal services would be on the scene any minute to react to the commotion. The only way herself and Penny Ling and Vinnie were leaving this place were in cages. At the impound, their identities would be traced back to their owners, which would then be traced back to Littlest Pet Shop – the ones who were supposed to be taking care of them. This would result in the shop getting hammered with negligence charges, the pet owners losing their faith in the day-camp, and all seven of them being transferred to Largest Ever Pet Shop. Yes. That was the best outcome of all this.

They would need a miracle to get out of this one.

And then it happened, but in the worst way possible. There was a collection of screams that came from the top of the steps, followed by painful tumbling. Several runners – one dressed in a goofy, lion mascot costume – crashed down the steps. Their bodies thumped like porcelain dolls down the concrete steps, hitting them one at a time, before slamming into the ground.

Chaos had broken loose. All attention was pulled away from the crazy monkey in the fountain to the unfortunate accident that had just occurred. People rushed over to help the fallen. They were now cancelling their calls to animal services and redialling nine-one-one. The victims writhed on the floor, howling in agony. Among their inane rambling, they were convinced they had broken something.

Minka, herself, had also been drawn to the spectacle. Vinnie climbed up the edge of the basin and shouted up, "Minka? Minka! Come on, we gotta get outta here!"

Without wasting another second, Minka hopped down from the top tier all the way to the ground. She landed and immediately sped into a dash, leaving a trail of wet handprints behind her. Vinnie and Penny Ling followed as they rushed back the way they came.

"Run," Vinnie hollered. "Back to Littlest Pet Shop!"

As they charged through the concerned crowds, the overhead speakers came alive again, urging people to remain calm and that emergency services are there to handle the injured. The pets ran out of the plaza and took to the streets, retracing their steps back to the shop. They refused to stop for anything. Their appendages burned as they pounded the hot tarmac.

Eventually, they had made it back in one piece with the sweat on their brows and Minka being no dryer than when they fled the marathon. They journey to and from the plaza was maybe the length of the marathon altogether. They dashed through the pet entrance, across the shop floor, and into the day camp.

Now that they were back in the place where they were supposed to be, and had hopefully avoided Mrs Twombly from noticing their absence, they all breathed in heavy sigh. Very little had changed in the hours that had passed. Russell's hypothesis, which started on a board, had spread to cover most of the far wall. A series of pictures, documents, and photographs, linked together with red tape, detective style.

"Can someone please explain to me what just happened back there?" Penny Ling wiped the sweat from under her furry brow.

"Don't look at me," Vinnie said, "I didn't catch what happened. I was too busy noticing a certain monkey going all bat-crazy."

The lone bat on the ceiling of the shop took offense to that. "That's two strikes I'm counting. One more and you're out."

Vinnie looked up and waved. "Sorry… again."

"Hey, that wasn't my fault," Minka protested. "If only that lousy man on the speaker hadn't said that."

"Said what?" Penny Ling asked.

"That. The two words that being with e and end in op."

Penny's brow rose. "Oh, you mean tip to—?" A split second before she could finish, Vinnie dived over and pressed his sticky fingers over her mouth.

"Penny, don't take this the wrong way," Vinnie explained, "but the last thing we need is a double feature."

"Hey, look!" Minka noticed the television. It was still on and nobody had even bothered to change it from the news channel since that morning. She recognised the scene: it was Downtown City Plaza – the place they had just been at. The three of them rushed up to the screen as Sally Hairspray herself took up the story.

"Good afternoon, I'm Sally Hairspray. This was the scene earlier today as eight potential runners from the Water for Everyone Fund were rushed into intensive care." The scene switched to the man in the lion outfit being carried out on a stretcher. "The incident occurred at Downtown City Plaza, just moments before the 74th Annual Marathon commenced. Medical experts have announced that none of them are in critical condition, and are expected to make full recoveries within the next few weeks. Police had been called in to investigate, following claims that the runners were under heavy sponsorship, but it's thought that a current lack of evidence will rule out any suggestion of foul play."

Minka's jaw dropped. "What? That's baloney!" She pointed to the screen. "Wallace was there right before they all tripped and fell down and stuff. I saw him."

"You did?" Penny Ling asked. "What happened?"

Minka scratched her head. "It's all a little fuzzy, but I remember seeing Wallace tie something around the top step."

"Tie something? You mean like a rope?" Vinnie asked.

"That's it! That's it! A rope." The monkey bounced up and down erratically, flicking water everywhere. "That's what he was trailing across the top step. I saw him."

"And all those poor people fell shortly before that…" Penny Ling shuddered. "Are you guys thinking what I'm thinking?"

The three spoke in unison, "Wallace tripped them."

But why?

Pepper walked up behind Minka. "Hey, Minks, what happened to you?" she asked. "You look like you've just fell for the fake flower gag."

In her zeal, Minka threw her face into the Pepper's. Their eyes were an inch apart. "Pepper, have you seen Wallace anywhere?"

Pepper Clark was leant so far back that her head touched the floor. "That jittery guy? Not since this morning." She straightened herself up. "I thought he was with you guys."

Penny Ling fidgeted with his paws. "You know, it's funny you should say that…"

They were interrupted by the sound of the main door being pushed ajar, and the tall frame of Mrs Twombly entering. A tray filled with fresh pet treats lay perfectly horizontal in her hands. That could only mean one thing…

"Snack time, sweeties," Anna Twombly proclaimed loud and proud.

The pets unaware of the whole sabotaging weasel act – Russell, Sunil, Pepper, Zoe, and Sheila – rushed over to her heels, eager to fill their bellies with yummy goodness. The rest tagged slowly behind, dragging their feet. It was not because they were not hungry – as a matter of fact, they were starving – but it was because Mrs Twombly was about to notice that one of the pets under her care had gone AWOL.

Caringly, she handed out snacks to all the pets, calling out there names as she did so. Pepper. Vinnie. Sheila. Sunil. Minka.

Twombly paused, noticing Minka was dripping wet. "Did it rain outside when I wasn't looking?" She thought about it for a moment, and then grinned and shrugged. "The weatherman did say it would, so I guess it must've. I'll get you a towel after serving the rest of the snacks."

Zoe. Russell. Penny Ling. She took the final snack, then called Wallace's name.

Mrs Twombly offered the morsel to an empty space. A red-haired paw grabbed it and brought it to his weasel mouth. Wallace munched away as happy as can be.

The monkey, gecko, and giant panda stared wide eyed and mouthed at the one who had apparently teleported into the room. They could have sworn that he was not there a minute ago, and yet there he was, sitting before them, chewing on a sweet. Wallace glanced back. The volition of his jaw grew slower as he noticed the eyes on him. Minka's stare refused to falter even as Mrs Twombly roughly towelled her down.

Wallace jumped up and slinked across to the opposite corner in a desperate bid to distance himself as much as he could from the witnesses. The pet shop, however, was not called the littlest for nothing. In that place, they were only so many places to hide. He mouthed the entirety of the treat, then picked up the pace.

Wallace was at the foot of the fire hydrant when an unwanted paw gripped him by the shoulder. "So, Wallace," an unwanted, soft-spoken voice said, "you got somewhere else you need to be?"

Wallace swallowed the lump of pet treat. It nearly formed a dam in his throat. He edged around and found himself face-to-face with the pets who had seen his escape. Vinnie leaned on the edge of the slide, menacingly bringing himself beside Wallace. Minka flipped onto the slide, cutting off his escape into solitude.

Wallace mumbled something. "Not really..." He refused to make eyes contact. "I was wanted some privacy for a bit."

Penny Ling folded her bear arms. Being taller, she glared down at the smaller animal. "Is that so? You seem to have gotten more than your fair share of that as of recently."

"What're you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb with us, Mister," said Minka as she poked at his back. "We saw you. Sneaking out of the day-camp."

A bead of sweat dripped from Wallace's forehead. His eyes shot left and right rapidly. "Who, me? You must've had me confused with someone else."

"How many weasels do you know in Downtown City?" Vinnie grilled. He ran his digits through his hair. "If I was to guess, I'd say not many."

Wallace grinded his teeth. "Okay, okay, I'll admit it. Sometimes, I can't help myself. I need to be outdoors every now and then. It allows me to stretch my legs, get some fresh air and plenty of sunlight. But I didn't go far from this place. I didn't go to the plaza or anything like that."

"That's funny," Penny Ling said. "None of us said you were at the plaza."

Another bead of sweat escaped Wallace. He felt the presence around him draw closer, boxing him in, giving him little space to breathe.

Penny Ling continued, sternly, "Spill the beans. Why did you cause those people to trip and hurt themselves?"

Wallace cowered behind his paws. "I… I never wanted to do it, but… but… I wanted to help… to make a difference."

Suddenly, the good cop bad cop attitude among them faded. Vinnie leaned back to give the weasel more space. "Huh? What do you mean, _make a difference_?"

Wallace sniffled. "They… they said they're going to help us. She... they talked about... special things. Really special things."

Penny Ling, gripped by the distraught weasel, knelt down and shushed him. "Calm down, Wallace. It's okay," she soothed, patting him on the shoulder. "Look, we're sorry if we're being hard on you, but please help us out here. Are you in trouble with anyone? Who are they? Who is she?"

Wallace wiped his watery eyes. "I'm sorry, but… I can't say who." He looked down at the floor as Minka patted him on the back. "Please, believe me, they're not bad people, they only want to help us."

Penny Ling gently cupped Wallace's jaw and rose his head so that their eyes met. "How're they trying to help us? What 'special things' did they talk about? Tell us… please."

Wallace's lips quivered. Shakily, he opened them and whispered a single word response: "Freedom."

Minka had opened her mouth to ask another question when the door to the day camp opened once more. "Oh, Wallace!" Mrs Twombly was at the door. "Your owner is here! Time to go home!"

Before they could react, Wallace had slipped by them. "Well, it seems my time is up," he said without pause as he backed away. "My time here was great – really, really good – a definite four-point-five out of five stars. I'll be sure to give you a glowing recommendation. Thanks. Bye now." Wallace span on his heels and sprinted for the exit.

"No!" Minka reached out. "Wait! Don't go!"

But it was too late. Wallace the weasel was out the door and, most likely, out of their lives forever.

Questions. All they had were questions. Each answer they had received only brought more questions that needed answered. What did he mean? Who were they? Who was she? What were they trying to do? How exactly were they helping anyone by injuring random joggers? None of it made sense.

Freedom. Freedom from what? Freedom from who? As they stood there, staring blankly, silently, at the door, they had never felt so lost in their lives.

Little did they know, they had only just begun their descent down the rabbit hole, and none of them could have seen how deep it went.


End file.
